Xibalba
by Daniel Lord Bahamut
Summary: AU, ignores Compilation of FF7. Four years after Meteor, a cult called Xibalba have vowed to resurrect The Great One at any cost. Cloud still hasn't come to grips with her death, but it's not the her you think. Rated for language in all chapters.
1. Getting the worm

_Xibalba,_ Chapter One

"Getting the worm"

Dawn broke. Which meant another morning had arrived. Morning marked the beginning of another day. Another day in a world full of broken lives and shattered dreams. Quality of life was abysmal. Food and water were few and far between. Bathing was a luxury. Privacy was just a word, a forgotten concept, unless one belonged to a priveleged few.

Long before the alarm clock went off, Cloud Strife was wide awake, but rather rise and disturb the others, he lay in the gloom and awaited first light. Silencing his clock before it could make any appreciable noise, he threw the cover back and set his feet on the bare sandstone floor. This room of the Shildra Inn had several other beds, all of which were occupied. It formerly housed just two beds and a long couch, but that was long before circumstances beyond the owner's control necessitated and fostered the growth. Another room was also excavated, and a half a dozen or so beds housed there as well, along with a communal restroom. At this early hour he was fairly certain no one was using it, so he gathered up yesterday's clothes, fresh socks from a dwindling stock (which reminded him, he needed to wash his socks), and his boots and headed to the aforementioned restroom.

_If there's anything to be thankful for in this fucked-up world, it's clean, dry socks,_ he thought as he pulled them on. The feeling brought back a memory of his army training. While on the way to a war games exercise, his drill instructor had spoken the following: "We will be performing this exercise in a jungle, ladies, a jungle. Hot, damp, sticky, no two ways about it. So I say this—any time you stop moving for any significant period of time, whether it be to eat, sleep or shit, change your socks. It's imperative that you do this, for both hygienic and morale reasons. You don't know what kind of shit you'll be slogging through. Who knows what the hell kinda exotic and possibly incurable diseases you could pick up through your feet? If you fall ill, you will be a useless soldier, only good for taking point and the first hits. Plus, a man with damp socks is not a happy man. Have you ever known any man who is content to wear moist socks? I can tell you in all my experiences, I have not met such a man, and if one did exist, he was more than likely fucking loony. In conclusion, change your goddamn socks." The speech would stick in his mind until the day of his death, and it was why he always carried at least half a dozen pairs of clean socks at all times. He was in danger of exhausting his supply, though; being located in a desert, this town could not procure sufficient water to provide adequate laundering facilities. If he wanted anything washed, he would literally have to purchase a washboard and tub and use elbow grease and his own water, so rather than waste time, energy and valuable water, he would buy some more socks when the local clothier opened for the day, wait until he reached the next town outside of this desert known as Cosmo Canyon, and wash them there.

Then he laughed at himself for his laziness as he put his shirt on. It must have been one of those days when he was feeling particularly slothful, if he was willing to simply purchase new socks rather than properly cleanse them.

He slipped his pants on and pulled his feet into his well-worn but well-kept black work boots. This pair was his marching boots, thick-soled, steel-toed and weighted to strengthen the legs. He also owned a pair of boots that were extremely lightweight and allowed him to tread very quietly, which he used on his missions of infiltration; few and far between these days. Not that he really needed to work; he had amassed quite a substantial amount of money in his largest endeavor: saving the world from Sephiroth and Meteor. Who would've known that becoming quite wealthy was a side-effect of traveling all over the Planet killing monsters? Nearly every metropolis, city, town, village and hamlet had a trading post for monster hides, teeth, bones, and the various humours that could be distilled from their flesh, and the owners generally paid a tidy sum for a monster carcass. The rarer, the better, they always said, and many of the creatures from up north and in the far west were considered quite rare.

He buttoned up his pants and cinched his belt, attaching his materia pouch and checking that it was of the proper weight. He found it of the proper mass, which meant none of the orbs had been stolen in the night, but it was not always so. A few days ago, he had awoken to a rustling, then a soft clacking, very near his bed. A young boy, not more than eleven or twelve years, was helping himself to his materia. After soundly beating him about the head and threatening to summon the authorities, the boy swore never to steal again. Oddly enough, he left wearing a slight smile, the grin of the guilty getting away with it, and it wasn't until much later Cloud found his money clip conspicuously thinner than it had been when he had retired the previous night. Angry at first, he really had to give it to the boy for succeeding in his theft after all.

A glance in the mirror confirmed that which he had been suspecting for some time: stress was aging him prematurely. Hints of crow's feet and forehead creases glared back at him, and it wouldn't be long until he found a gray hair or three. Not surprising, really, considering that since the Meteor-Holy bout four years ago there had been a sharp increase in the overall monster population caused by the excess magical radiation. Some people had been affected as well, mostly those near the impact site in the now-defunct town of Kalm on the eastern continent. It was unthinkable that all those people, including the daughter of one of his former teammates, had been transformed by the fallout into hideous beasts, driven mad by their own bodies and the sheer agony of their forms.

After the initial shockwave had dissipated, the group known as Avalanche had piloted their craft, the _Highwind_, to the town and discovered the awful truth, and with a heavy heart they were forced to kill the townspeople in defense after being swarmed by them. When all lay still, they began damage assessment, and Barret Wallace, leader of the old Avalanche, found the body of his beloved daughter Marlene, felled by a bullet fired from his own gun. Never had any of them heard so mournful a cry. No amount of consolation and kind words could bring him out of the near-autism he slid into, and some days later, he was found with a bullet fired from his own gun lodged into his head.

During the melee, Cloud fought hard and long, as did all the others, but it would be in vain for Tiffany Lockheart, "Tifa" to her friends. Just as the tide of battle turned in Avalanche's favor, a mob of a dozen demonized townsfolk converged upon her, and though Cloud pushed, shoved, cut his way through the surging masses, he would not get to her in time to save her from being thrown to the ground, trampled, and savagely beaten. His fury welled up and exploded, and none could stand before him, as his body and sword became a blur, slashing, cutting, cleaving his way to her. As Barret sobbed in remorse a small distance away, Cloud Strife, valiant leader and hero to the world, one of the greatest swordsmen who ever lived, second only to the great Sephiroth, held Tifa in his arms as she breathed her final.

"I love you, Cloud," was the last she said before she passed.

Since then, he had considered taking Barret's way out many times, more than could be counted, but helping protect people from monsters had given him new purpose, and he fought every battle for her, to atone for failing her when she needed him the most. But day by day, though he fought with the resolution and righteousness of the just, he found less reasons to get out of bed and face the day. The world was dying, slowly, bit by bit, taken beyond the brink by the parasitic practices of ShinRa Electric Power Company, Inc. and the outpouring of Lifestream by the Planet to stop Meteor. How ironic that, though both ShinRa and the Meteor had been stopped and the Planet saved, that the very actions that saved the Planet would be its eventual downfall. The Planet no longer had enough of the Lifestream left to sustain itself, though many people had entered it on that day. Forests died in regions of plentiful rainfall. Once green, the vast plains of the central continent browned. Tillable land yielded less and less each harvest. Even after his defeat, the wrath of Sephiroth was felt to this very day, more than four years later.

Properly attired, Cloud returned to his bunk and retrieved his armor Mystile and his sword. The same armor which had defended him in his trek down into the depths of the Planet in the Northern Crater, the same sword which had destroyed the creatures who once were human in Kalm, the same sword which...

...had failed to protect Aeris.

...had failed to protect Marlene.

...had failed to protect Tifa.

He heard those voices every time he looked at the sword, every time he struck down a monster, every time he was warded by the armor, without fail.

He was plagued by vivid nightmares, creative in their variety, in which those scenarios played themselves out again and again, with different circumstances, but the same eventual outcome. The most haunting was the one in which he saved them all, only to have Sephiroth somehow return in their most unguarded moment, and no matter how often he placed himself between his old nemesis and those he had sworn fealty to, Sephiroth always seemed to be able to get around him and slaughter the women, while he stood powerless. The killing complete, Cloud fell to his knees while the former general laughed, laughed, laughed the mirthless laugh of the victorious, it was coming from everywhere, ear-splitting, deafening, he couldn't block it out though he covered his head, and then the Masamune struck at him, and he awoke, a scream caught in his throat, sweat filming his body.

His comrades had told him there was no way he, or any of them, could have gotten to her faster, but it didn't make him any happier. He eventually drifted away from them, wandering the world, taking on dangerous missions just for the hell of it, not caring whether he lived or died. The only being which kept him going was his chocobo, Renault, who stood by him faithfully, in feast and famine, good times and bad, when there was plenty of greens to be had or when there were none. Strange that a bird could give him purpose...

As of late he had been chasing a man named Enali. Apparently he was of some import in a group called the Cult of Xibalba, who were purported to be "sworn to the resurection of The Great One." Of course, these days, such fringe cults were common, small in number and generally harmless. Several recent assaults in various cities had been attributed to members of Xibalba, and he had come to Cosmo to seek the wisdom of the elders and the Protector, Nanaki, known affectionately as Red. He had scheduled a meeting with Red this morning, set for just after sunrise, which is why he arose before the dawn.

He quietly left the room and headed downstairs and out into the city square, where people were just coming out to begin the day. He was unimpeded as he climbed to the top of the city where Bugenhagen's observatory stood and Red resided. As he lifted himself from the last rung of the ladder, he looked over the city, which had grown considerably in the time following Meteor. He took a deep breath of the cool predawn air and entered the observatory, and was halted by Red standing at the door.

"Good morning," Cloud greeted the lion-like beast.

Red did not return the salutation. Instead he said, "Come. There is much to discuss." He turned and strode quickly to his office.

Cloud raised an eyebrow. _Odd,_ he thought, but followed him.

* * *

"On a cosmic scale, the life of a human flashes by in the blink of an eye, too short to be measured by the cycles of galaxies. Humans, being the only species on their planet aware of their own mortality, sought any means possible to delay the inevitable, or even reverse death. Such is the basis for the Cult of Xibalba."

So went the opening of the new member literature Cloud held. It was a little unnerving, he had to admit, but it sounded like the drunken ramblings of another harmless madman trying to get enough of a following to acquire a tax exemption status.

"What does this mean?" Cloud asked.

"It does not appear to be much of anything on the surface," Red replied. "The man named Enali definitely plays a very active role in the organization. It would appear he is the leader, or head priest or some such nonsense. A deeper investigation into this cult revealed a disturbing truth, namely the identity of their 'Great One.' "

Red hesitated, and Cloud interpreted that as an unbelief in his own words, which was unsettling. The talking cat-like animal was not one to mince words, and any delay in the delivery of information was cause for concern. He waited for Red to finish in his own time, though.

"I must warn you," Red continued, "that this is no mere fringe group worshipping a chicken god in their backyard or something of the sort. They are highly organized with strong central leadership and a rather impressive list of sponsors, all of whom contribute heavily to the research they are conducting."

"What sort of research are we talking about?"

"By combining the latest technological advancements with magical science through the use of materia, they are attempting to create a portal into time. This of course has many applications, not the least of which is military, and can literally change the course of history, past, present and future."

Cloud frowned. This was disturbing indeed, to think a time travel project was being funded in this day and age. "They call their project 'Xibalba,' " Red continued, "which, when roughly translated from old Cetran, is 'the gates of hell.' A portal into the time stream would certainly look like a gate into hell, so the name is apt."

"What's the current status of their project?"

"I can't be certain, as they keep their records closely guarded, but from what I've been able to gather they seem very close to a breakthrough."

"What kind of people would fund such a project, run by a cult?"

"I don't have any names of persons or organizations, but I do know they are very prominent in world events. To the sponsors, the cult members' beliefs mean nothing, only the end result."

"And who is their 'Great One'?"

Red lowered his head and stared at the floor for several seconds. "His name is Sephiroth."

Cloud sank into a chair. "You've got to be kidding me."

Red looked up. "I wish I were. Their core ideology seems to be that Sephiroth was actually a boon, not a bane, to the Planet, and that we, Avalanche, stood in his path to greatness and world unity."

"Disgusting," Cloud spat out. "What idiots."

"I am inclined to agree. But it does not change the fact that they are worshipping him and are working on this time portal with the ultimate goal of bringing Sephiroth into the present from the past, which will have unimaginable effects on the timeline as we know it."

"And what about the 'sponsors'?"

"More than likely, their goals are to alter the course of history to something more favorable to them. Perhaps a military takeover at kep points in social history, or an economical change, such as purchasing stock in ShinRa at their inception, then selling just before their downfall and reaping a huge sum of money."

"Standard dictator fare," Cloud said, nodding. "I'm a little more concerned about this Sephiroth business. Who knows what he'd do if he were brought here. I don't know if we could defeat him again."

"Nor do I," Red agreed, "and that is the most disturbing of all."

They went over a few more points, including the last known location of Enali and the Xibalba headquarters, which was, of course, classified information, but the extent of Red's network was surprising. Cloud was amazed he had come up with so much information in such a short time.

While they discussed, a quirky little notion entered the back of Cloud's mind. What if...? No, there's no way. But if they really do finish this...

Tifa...

They talked for some time more, and by the time they came up for air it was nearly midmorning, and the city below was bustling with activity. An unpleasant sensation in his gut reminded Cloud of a rather insistent biological imperative.

"I think we should break and get something to eat," he suggested.

"An excellent idea," Red concurred. "Let us retire to the Shildra."

They exited the observatory, and the whole way down into the city proper he pondered the possibilities of this Xibalba portal.

And he thought of her.

* * *

Cosmo, as a whole, had grown considerably in the time since Meteor, and as with all large cities, there are times when the abilities of the police force to maintain order are outstripped by the sheer number of inhabitants going about their daily routines. So there was little surprise in the fact that a fair-sized group of people had gathered around a barker and a muscle-bound man.

"Step on up, anybody!" the barker shouted above the clamoring. "Go toe to toe with this foe for one minute or more, you'll be in the dough! Ten thousand gil to the man—or woman—who can best Orlan here! Five hundred gil to try!"

Cloud approached the rabble as a rather burly man stepped forward. "I am Falhar, and I accept your challenge!" he yelled, and the crowd cheered as he handed the requisite money to the barker, who quickly pocketed it.

Something of a sneer flashed across Orlan's face as Falhar came at him, snarling, ready to grapple. Orlan dropped into a traditional wrestler's stance and, as Falhar reached out to strike, his fist shot out and connected squarely with Falhar's forehead. His head snapped back, and he fell like a sack of potatoes.

Cloud raised an eyebrow.

Several people came forward to collect the crumpled form of Falhar, and the barker laughed. "Attaboy! Keep 'em comin'! Any other takers?"

Thrice more rough-looking men, and one lithe woman, chose to tangle with Orlan, and all were soundly beaten about the head and did not leave under their own power.

Cloud frowned. _This could get ugly,_ he thought, _and there aren't any police around. I should put a stop to this._

He rudely shoved through the crowd and confronted the barker and his side of beef. "I'll give a go," he announced, and was met with an insulting glare by the barker.

"Go home kid," he said. "We wouldn't want your mommy to be worried. 'Sides, no weapons."

Oh, that. Cloud shrugged and removed his sword from his back and placed it on the ground. "How about now?" he asked.

The barker snorted. "Your funeral. Orlan, flatten him."

Orlan popped his knuckles loudly and swaggered toward Cloud, who took up a decidedly military stance, providing no openings. Orlan threw a right which came a bit faster than he anticipated, but was easily side-stepped. The follow-up left was equally swift, but no more difficult to avoid. A roundhouse came next, which Cloud blocked, though it knocked him off-balance for an instant. Orlan pounced on the opportunity, and delivered a crushing headbutt. Stars flashed before Cloud's eyes, and he stepped back, clutching his face. A knee somehow found its way to his chin, and down he went.

The crowd was silent, and Orlan howled with laughter. "Scrawny boy," he bellowed, "that is what you get." He turned his back to the crowd, and as such did not see Cloud rise. Only when someone shouted "get the son of a bitch" did he turn back—too late—to see a boot cave his stomach in. He immediately doubled over, nearly retching, and a hard uppercut met his nose, shattering the cartilage and causing a vessel to burst, blood showering out of his nostrils. A second fist followed quickly, this one to the temple, and Orlan went limp and tumbled to the ground, face down in a widening pool of his own blood.

Cloud rubbed at his sore forehead and looked over at the barker. "Ten thousand gil to the one who can best Orlan," he said. "When can I expect to be paid?"

A cheer went up through the crowd, and a slack-jawed barker stammered and yammered in a vain attempt to come back. Then a look of pure disgust found its way to his face, and he reached into his vest, withdrew a wad of bills, and threw it at him. "I hope you die," he spat, and bent down to inspect his prize fighter.

Cloud retrieved his sword and the money and said to no one in particular, "Get him to a fuckin' hospital." He made his way thorough the crowd, but this time they parted and allowed him to pass.

* * *

According to Red, the most recent base of operations for Xibalba was located a bit north of Cosmo, in Nibelheim. _Of all places,_ he thought, _Nibelheim. The crazies just can't stay away._ The people hired by ShinRa chose to remain there even after the company was demolished and they were no longer receiving checks. It had grown on them, they said, and they didn't have a home to return to, since much of Midgar now lay in ruin. Since then, several people and organizations had taken up residence in the old ShinRa mansion, but not many stayed, with the rumors of hauntings and strange noises coming from the sealed basement. Xibalba, however, cared not for the scared rantings of local townsfolk, and chose it as a viable headquarters, since it was definitely off the beaten path, the closest commercial centers being the Cosmo desert and Rocket Town over the Nibel mountain range; even trade between those two cities was not done over land anymore, but by sea, the mountains being too dangerous for chocobo-drawn caravans. Not much reason for Nibelheim to still be around, but still the people stayed.

After drinking a potion to calm the throbbing of his head, Cloud headed to the chocobo stable to get Renault. He fed the bird a large head of curiel greens, which elicited a mighty wark, and led it to the city gate, where he mounted and spurred the bird westward, to lower ground, and out of the desert. It would take some time, probably a couple of days, to reach Nibelheim, and the more he dallied, the less likely it was he would find Enali.

* * *

High above, in the observatory, Red watched as Cloud set out on his trek, and shook his head slowly. There was very little likelihood that, if he found the Cult, he would be able to dismantle it on his own. He summoned Elder Shin and bade him contact the remaining members of Avalanche, to tell them they were needed forthwith at Cosmo. He only hoped they would arrive in time to render assistance to Cloud, before he got into something he very well may not come out of alive.


	2. Grand scheme

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_Xibalba, _Chapter Two  
"Grand scheme"

"Elder Shin, I must follow Cloud, and I must leave immediately. Will you care for the affairs of the city in my absence?"

"Of course, Nanaki. Won't you take some water before you go?"

"Even such a trifling delay could mean the difference between successfully tracking him and losing him completely. He travels bestride a gold chocobo, the fleetest animal known to exist. I thank you for your concern, but I must depart at once."

"I do not recommend such a course, but if you feel you must—"

"I do. Farewell, Shin. Care for Cosmo as your own."

Their exchange complete, he set out from the city at a sprint. Though it had been only a short time since he observed Cloud depart, he had covered much ground, perhaps several kilometers. The wind had been gusting, so his scent had been masked by the faint aroma of the sea far from the west. A best guess was that he was headed for Nibelheim, operating under the assumption that Xibalba could be found there. While likely true, they would have a rather large security detachment at their disposal; though Red didn't doubt Cloud's skill with the blade, having witnessed it firsthand on many occasions, the probability of surviving solo against even a poorly trained but sizeable opposing force was dismal.

So absorbed was he in his thoughts that he only noticed the bird at the last possible moment, and narrowly avioded colliding with it. He almost kept going, but detected a familiar scent, and skidded to a halt.

'Whoa there, fur face, where's the fire?" a bubbly female voice questioned.

He looked back to see a chocobo, with a young woman mounted. Unmistakeable was her garb, so he immediately recognized her. "Yuffie, good to see you."

She dismounted and stepped over to him. "What's up Red," she said as she knent and stroked his crimson fur. He reveled in the attention for a moment.

"Actually, I am following Cloud. He is headed to the north into a potentially dangerous situation."

She bolted upright. "Cloud?" she repeated. "He's in trouble?"

"Possibly. I must make haste if I am to catch him, as he is riding his gold chocobo."

"Well what are we waiting for!" she shouted as she clambered back onto the bird. "Let's roll." She spurred it into motion, and Red found himself racing to keep up with her.

* * *

How could it have gone wrong so quickly?

The test was a simple one, which should have gone off without a hitch. A jump of appreciable size, acquire a test object proving both that the jump occurred and how far back it was, and return. Instead, three scientists were dead, several operations consoles were smashed, and the prototype belt damaged.

Enali surveyed the destruction with a creeping frustration. It was painfully obvious someone had miscalculated, although the test had been successful, but not in the way anyone expected or wanted. Tyrus had not brought back an artifact, but a creature, which had savaged him as he activated the return belt, and been dragged along with his bloody carcass. The vlakorados, which had once roamed much of the Planet thousands of years ago but had been driven to the northern reaches, traveled solitarily now, but were pack animals in that time, and Tyrus, though he had not jumped along the spatial part of the equation, had materialized within such a herd (further researching found that this area had been a breeding ground for the species), and had not acted quickly enough to save his life, or that of the slaughtered doctors scattered about the portal chamber. Luckily, the beast had been relatively young, not nearly as strong as an adult would have been, so it had not been difficult to subdue and kill, but it mattered not now. The loss of the scientists' knowledge, the test subject, and the prototype return belt would not be easy to explain to the Board of Donors.

He sighed. Up until this, the project had been progressing without serious hiccups or mishaps, with test objects being sent forward in time one hour materializing without damage. Chronological analysis had shown the object to indeed be younger than an identical control object by one hour, but the real money shot would be a one-hour jump backwards, by a person, to retrieve a test object and come back to the present. This had been the first test to use a human, and if things didn't go well with the Board, it may have been the last.

He produced his PHS and called Loren, his second-in-command. She was the only person in the entire organization he felt he could trust enough to cover this mess up without the Board finding out; if they received word of this before he could explain the situation to them, they may very well stop funding the project, which would leave him with precious few options.

* * *

Because they were very prominent figures in world affairs, the Board of Donors met in the utmost secrecy. They wore full-length cloaks and hoods even in warm weather to conceal their identities. Very few people were allowed into their meeting chamber, Enali being one of those people. As such, though he met with them on nearly a daily basis, he hadn't the slightest clue about who they were under the robes. At first he was curious, eager to find out who would fund such a venture as time travel, but some subtle and not-so-subtle hints had been dropped to him that discovering the faces behind the hoods would mean discovering a dragon deep inside a mountain without anything to defend himself, and the inquiries ceased.

Today, though, would be a bit different. An accident had occurred, people were dead, and there was some tall explaining to do.

He stood before them, in the dimly lit chamber, unarmed and without communication capabilities, and began his report, starting with the unmanned tests and reluctantly ending with the unintended return passenger, speaking without emotion, only facts, no exposition or opinion, and they waited and listened, absorbing every word even after he had stopped speaking, and stood in uncomfortable silence for several seconds.

Unnamed they were, except for a number, indicative only of the order in which they joined the organization. Number Six spoke first: "Is there any detail you have left out?"

"No, there is not," Enali responded.

Number Four was next (they were decidedly female, the voice was unmistakable): "What is your interpretation of this event?"

"I believe that, though there was a grave miscalculation, it proves that time travel, both forward and backward, is not only possible but occurred that day. An autopsy of the beast showed it to be out of chronological synch with the rest of the world by at least a few thousand years."

Number Five: "So you view this incident as a successful test?"

"I do."

Number Three: "Despite the fact that the priceless knowledge of those scientists is forever lost, along with the only working return belt?"

A beat. "Yes."

Another silence.

Now Number One chose to speak. "I am inclined to agree. Though people died, your Xibalba portal was proven to work. You are to begin repair work and order further tests to see what degree of accuracy the portal can be programmed for. We wish to know what the maximum timeline displacement is, as well as any possible spatial displacement. Spare no expense. That is all."

Enali bowed slightly and exited the chamber.

As he returned to the laboratory, his mind raced. The meeting had gone even better than he had imagined! Not only was funding to continue, it would be increased for the duration of testing. Exciting news, indeed. Again he contacted Loren and relayed the meeting results, giving her orders for the repairs and further testing, as well as refinement of the calculations so that this type of thing would not happen again.

He spread the word himself as well, telling all remaining scientists to begin the necessary preparations for the restart of the project. By the time he'd finished it was midafternoon, and time for daily training. A perfect opportunity to take out his frustrations and anxieties, unfortunately for whomever chose to spar with him. Might as well step up the training today, since it was possible, even with tight security and an obscure location, that word had reached some authority figures and even now counter forces were being dispatched. Paranioa, maybe, but it was always better to be prepared even for the unlikely or impossible, and ignoring something because of a low probability of its occuring wasn't how he'd gained his position.

He only hoped the rumors about Avalanche's disbanding were true; he didn't know if all the training in the world would properly prepare his security teams to go against them as a collective. After all, they had been the ones who bested the Great One, possibly through treachery or subterfuge, but even if they had triumphed through less than honorary means, a win is still a win, and such means could be used against them as well. A head-on confrontation with the full power of Avalanche would not be pretty, he'd surmised; using the Xibalba's supercomputer, a simulation of such an event had been played out, and more than ninety percent of security had fallen in it. The remainder fled or joined the enemy.

That outcome was not favorable.

* * *

Following Cloud's trail had not been very difficult, since he had made no attempt to conceal it, though up to a point. The wind had not been much of a factor that day, so the chocobo tracks in the red earth of the Cosmo Desert were quite obvious. As the day wore on, and they left the rocky soils behind for greener pastures, Yuffie found it more problematical, for the grass was short and tough, not easily trampled; that, in addition to the naturally light tread of the ocean chocobo, would cause the likelihood of further tracking after sundown to drop to near zero. It was then decided she and Red would make camp shortly after nightfall, regardless of distance travelled.

With a bit of embarassment, Red reluctantly admitted to Yuffie that he had neglected to bring any supplies with him; in his haste to catch Cloud, it had not occured to him. She had apparently had some foresight, and carried plenty of food, enough to last several days, along with a fair sum of money with which to procure more, if necessary. Of course, he hoped they would not have to journey any longer than that, therefore extra provisions would not be needed. But one could not forsee what tomorrow would bring...

They had camped near the river a few miles north of the desert's edge, which meant drinking water would not be a problem. _Crossing_ the water would prove more troublesome, for this time they did not have an amphibious vehicle, such as the old buggy or Tiny Bronco, with which to safely ford the river. He brought this up to Yuffie after returning from the river's bank to drink.

She shrugged. "Don't worry too much about it," she said. "You might've come unprepared, but at least one of us isn't." She gestured vaguely in the direction of her beast of burden. "I got an inflatable raft. It can carry all three of us."

Red was skeptical. "Including your chocobo?" he questioned. "As I recall, they have rather sharp claws extending from their toes. Not very conducive to an inflatable vessel."

She scoffed. "Fear not, my crimson companion. I said it _can_ carry all three of us. I didn't say it _will_."

She seemed to consider the matter closed, for she did not expound any further. Mentally shrugging it off, he glanced about, scanning for any possible threats. Even with all the Mako reactors long since deactivated, there hadn't been a marked decrease in the monster population, which was good news to the mercenaries and poachers of the world, but not so good to the general public. The creatures rarely wandered near areas of even small human congregation, and were all but absent from major urban centers like Cosmo Canyon, but out here on the open plain, with no signs of civilization for many miles, the danger was much greater, especially at night. Many species of monster were nocturnal and carnivorous, an unhealthy combination for unwary travelers.

Of course, being a natural born predator species such as himself, along with a trained-since-childhood ninja, did not exactly make them unwary. The day's march had been taxing, though, and their guard was down as they sat near the campfire, so even with his heightened senses he did not detect the beasts until one of them stumbled.

He immediately perked up and jerked around in the direction of the sound and saw four or five shapes, all roughly his size, which meant they were probably a small pack of desert wolves straying north to drink at the river. For them to be active at night, though, was quite unusual. It mattered not to him why they were here; they would not approach a fire unless very bold or very hungry.

He alerted Yuffie to their presence. She stood and readied her shuriken, and he lowered himself to pounce as the wolves spread out to encircle them. A quick glance to the east showed several more hunched masses approaching, likely the rest of the pack, which meant this group was just a skirmish team.

They seemed to be eyeing Yuffie's chocobo, which, given the situation, he probably would as well. She saw this as well, and retreated to its defence. He did not; he would be the shock troop, since he could at least match their speed, if not their strength. As one neared him, he struck, and the fight began.

His target had been surprised by his quickness, and let out a short yelp as he slashed its snout, then leapt onto its back and delivered a killing bite to its neck. Another wolf lunged at him, but he was faster than that one as well, and it soon fled with a damaged eye. He looked about and saw Yuffie fling her shuriken and catch one on its flank, but it was a glancing blow, serving only to bring her to its attention. It let out a howl, and the remainder of the pack materialized from the darkness, tipping the odds further into their favor.

Red bounded toward Yuffie and the chocobo, which warked loudly as three wolves dashed forward and back, snapping at it. Apparently the bird was not helpless, though, for one of the three soon yowled in pain as it received honed talons to its eyes and fell back. This gave the other two pause, which was enough for him to tear into one, laying its back open and sending it into the afterlife. The third lunged again at the chocobo, but long before it reached it it combusted, hit by a large fireball from Yuffie's materia. It fell into a charred mess a few feet away.

The rest of the pack had rallied, though, and charged forward as a group. Red quickly assessed the pack and determined that the lead one would likely be the alpha male, and if defeated, would cause the lessers to flee... or so he hoped. They numbered about a dozen, not including the alpha, and that amount decreased after a wave of fire swept over them. They scattered, but Red had his eye on the alpha, and said to Yuffie, "I'll try to take out their leader. It may cause them to lose their boldness."

Yuffie's shuriken whistled again. "Take out the general, the grunts lose morale," she agreed.

Without another word he rushed at his quarry, issuing his challenge with a snarl. The alpha dodged his initial attack and bit at him. Red evaded and his claws flashed, lancing across the alpha's snout. It did not cry out; instead it lunged again, sinking its teeth into his flank. Another flare of pain along his back let him know he was now outnumbered as another wolf had jumped onto him and bit. He whirled about, slashing at either creature, hitting neither, but the pain lessened as both released him. Then a loud growl and scuffling came, followed by yips and yowls. The alpha had attacked the inferior wolf, which limped away, tail tucked. Apparently it wanted to fight alone, which was fine by Red.

He only had an instant, but he seized the opportunity by leaping at the alpha and locking into its back with his claws. This time the howl of pain came, and it shook angrily, but he held fast. It was stronger though, he could feel the power of its muscles, so he would need to finish it quickly or possibly be overcome; a longer altercation would mean more discomfort for him. He bit swiftly at its head and the nape of the neck, each time causing it to whip its head around to counter, but he was not within its reach, and it wasn't long before he saw its skull through the tattered flesh. Slowed by pain and loss of blood, it couldn't shake him off, and he delivered the deathblow by latching onto its neck and squeezing with all his might. It yowled again, but that was cut short when he felt the _snap_ of the vertebrae of its neck, and it toppled over, broken.

With precious little time to savor his victory, he turned his attention to Yuffie and the chocobo, who were faring rather well. Several wolf bodies lay scattered about them, but four were still on the offence. The bird warked and struck at one, missing but again giving it pause, while Yuffie's shuriken flew at it, slicing into its side and felling it. Ignoring his wounds, he rushed to their aid, but it looked as though they wouldn't need it; another flash of fire, and the rest of the wolves turned tail, fleeing southward back to the desert. Her shuriken flew again, but only as a parting shot.

He stopped next to her. "Well, that was entertaining," he panted, the exertion of battle starting to catch up to him. "Though I could have done without these bites."

She stooped down to him. "You all right?"

"As well as can be expected. You didn't happen to bring a Restore materia, did you?"

"Never leave home without it." She produced a green orb roughly the size of a baseball and gazed into it. It began to glow faintly, and the cure magic flashed over his wounds, knitting the flesh together and causing the pain to slacken. "Better?"

"Much. Are you wounded at all?"

She waved it off. "Hell no. They were too slow for me. 'Sides, Thundaga here had my back all the way. They didn't lay a paw on us."

_Still as much bravado as ever,_ he thought. "Indeed, I had taken note of that. Your bird is not exactly a pacifist."

"Damn right it's not. She's the finest war chocobo in Wutai's stables. When you're the daughter of Lord Godo, you ride in style AND safety." She patted the bird affectionately, and it purred.

Red looked around again, sniffing the air, which carried the stench of their dead foes. The wind was slight, but coming from the north; the smell would carry quickly. "I think it prudent for us to move on. That pack will return to investigate the dead, and I would very much like it if we were not nearby when that happens."

"Yeah," Yuffie agreed. She inspected Thundaga, who bore no obvious damage, and mounted up. "How 'bout we cross the river?"

Red nodded. He moved to extinguish the fire, kicking dirt on it. Here on the plains it was a beacon. It was no small wonder those wolves attacked them; that fire could be seen from several miles away, for there were no natural light sources, save for the light of the half moon. Moving across the river would more or less be a sideways maneuver in terms of relative safety. They would be away from the territory of the wolves, true, but that much closer to the Nibel mountain range, which still teemed with Mako-produced monsters created by ShinRa's reactor. They had little choice, though, so they gathered up their supplies and trekked to the riverbank.

The flow was ponderous, but the water deep and wide; swimming was not an option for either of them. They stopped and Yuffie dismounted. She rummaged in her pack and produced a small, lumpy mass with a ripcord protruding from it. She placed it on the ground and yanked on the cord, and it started hissing. It grew in volume, quickly taking the shape of a raft.

"Voila," she said. "She's not much to look at, but she'll get us across."

Red gazed at it, then looked at the chocobo. "Tell me how she is getting across without puncturing this craft."

"Simple." She looked at the bird, then whistled sharply and pointed at the river. The bird warked and took off, flapping its short wings. For a moment Red thought it might just plunge heedlessly into the waters, but at the last second it leapt into the air. Chocobos are not known for their aerial acrobatics, but this one kept flapping and glided to a rest on the opposite bank.

He stared at the bird a moment, then looked at Yuffie askance. She grinned. "Told ya, finest war chocobo in the stables." She bent down and hefted the raft. "Now it's our turn."

She dumped it back onto the ground right at the current's edge, then went into her pack again, producing two metal stakes roughly a foot long and two inches in diameter, a length of rope, and a short crossbow. Red arched an eyebrow, curious, but did not ask.

She stabbed one of the stakes into the ground at her feet, then securely tied the rope to it in a series of complicated knots any sailor would be proud of. She did the same to the other stake, only she didn't put it into the earth, she armed the crossbow with it. She then aimed at the far bank, seemingly much too low, and fired. He watched the stake sail over the water and strike into the ground over there.

Grunting with satisfaction, Yuffie stowed the crossbow and shoved the raft into the river. She glanced back and said, "Well, are you or aren't you?" Without waiting for a response she clambered into the raft.

Red shook his head in amazement. This was quite the resourceful young woman. He padded forward and, retracting his claws as far as he could, jumped lightly into the dinghy. It rocked a bit from his added weight, but remained afloat. Yuffie reached out and grasped the rope and began "climbing" across it, pulling the craft along. Since he did not possess opposable thumbs, he could not assist her, so he just laid down and tried not to extend his claws, which took a lot of willpower. It wasn't long before they had reached the other side, though, and they abandoned the raft.

As it drifted downstream, he again looked at Yuffie. "Do you not wish to retrieve it?" he asked.

"Are you kidding?" she replied. "Those things are a pain in the ass to pack up. They're basically disposable to me. 'Sides, they're not all that expensive to replace. I get a bulk discount from a guy I know back home, too." She sauntered over to Thundaga. "Let's find a spot to crash for the night. I'm beat."

He had to admit he was quite weary himself. Without responding he walked a few hundred yeards away from the river and laid down. He heard Yuffie lead the chocobo nearby, then its settling noises. She rummaged again, and unrolled a sleeping bag, but he heard little beyond that, as he drifted into sleep.


	3. Orphan of Nibelheim

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_Xibalba,_ Chapter Three  
"Orphan of Nibelheim"

Nibelheim had not changed at all.

It really wasn't all that amazing, considering it was a rather small town in a remote location, off major trade and travel routes, but to Cloud, who had spent his first fourteen years here, the fact that every building, every fence, every stone on the ground, was identical to the way he remembered it... He was definitely taken aback. Obviously, even with ShinRa long gone, these people followed their orders to make the town appear as it had more than nine years ago, before Sephiroth torched the place, almost religiously. The old truck, long ago broken down and abandoned, still decaying at the gate. The inn still had the oddly hanging sign and the hitching post. At his old house, the window to his bedroom was still cracked where he had banged his head while jumping on his bed. The well still leaked very slowly, a puddle collecting beneath the structure.

And the ShinRa mansion, still dilapidated, maybe more so, since it was the only original building left standing by Sephiroth. In fact, it seemed as though no one had entered the structure for some time, years probably, but he wouldn't know until he actually inspected the interior. He would get to that tomorrow, though. He was tired, as was Renault; he had pushed him harder than usual to reach Nibelheim as quickly as possible, and had reached the city sometime after nightfall. Everyone had retired to their homes. Lights shone at the inn, though, and that is where he headed to buy a bed for the night.

He had avoided returning here for a long time, since his travels with Avalanche, reluctant to see what he would find. Truth be told, he wasn't expecting everything to be so completely unchanged; he had secretly hoped he would find the still-smoldering ruins left behind by Sephiroth's mad rampage. Finding nothing was preferable to finding something. At least that way he would have some form of closure. But this... this duplicate, this fraud, this unreasonable facsimile...

He dismounted and led his companion to the hitching post, but he did not restrain the bird. Instead he patted him on the neck and said, "Sorry, old fella, they don't have accommodations for persons of your carriage. You'll have to find a place to sleep. Make sure you're back after sunup though. And be careful." Renault warked softly and padded off in a random direction to find somewhere to lay his head. Cloud hated doing that—he really deserved much better than the cold, uncaring ground somewhere—but what he said was true, they didn't have a stable here.

The same jingle of the bell, the same creak of the door, the same heavily etched counter... If not for the unfamiliar face behind the counter, the illusion would be complete. He had to remember, though, _his_ Nibelheim didn't exist anymore... Sephiroth took that from him. Nibelheim belonged to the innkeeper, the children chasing a soccer ball, the lazy dog whiling the day away in a sunbeam. This Nibelheim would never be his again, and even if it were, the one person he wanted to share it with...

"Evening, stranger," the innkeep greeted him as the door glided closed. "What can I do for you?"

He couldn't help but allow an ironic smile appear on his lips at the "stranger" comment. Only fitting for one such as he, forever an orphan, unknown to his own hometown. "A place to lay my head," he replied.

"Y'come to the right place. Got a comfortable bed just waitin' to be laid in. How's two hundred gil sound?"

"Sounds like you got yourself a deal," Cloud said. He produced the required amount. "Which way?" he asked, knowing full well where the sleep chamber was.

The keep pointed to the staircase. "Up that way, on the left. Pick whichever one y'like." He nodded as he collected the money and offered a friendly, if practiced smile. "Have a good night."

Cloud nodded as well, and climbed the steps, eliciting a groan on every third one, exactly as he recalled. He ascended into the dimly lit sleep area above and selected a random bed, shrugging his satchel off his shoulder and removing his sword from his back. Standing the sword against the wall and placing the bag on the floor at the foot of the bed, he stretched out atop the blanket and stared at the darkened ceiling.

So much had happened in the last four years, yet he really couldn't think of anything of significance, that was really important. He'd lost touch with Avalanche, wandered the Planet aimlessly, killed monsters, trained Renault to fight beside him as well as carry him the distance... None of it mattered in the grand scheme. If he hadn't gone and saved the world, he wouldn't have left any kind of lasting legacy. He didn't have a son he could pass his wisdom and skills on to. He didn't know if he even had friends anymore, since he hadn't seen or heard from them, aside from Red, in about three and a half years. His life was marked by failures: he failed to be strong enough to get into SOLDIER; he failed to stop Sephiroth from killing everyone in Nibelheim; he failed to fight Sephiroth out of his mind, giving him the Black Materia and causing Meteor to be summoned in the first place; he failed to keep Aeris from harm; he failed all the people of Kalm, including Marlene...

He fell asleep beating himself up over his failures, if fitfully, and, as expected, he dreamed of the past.

* * *

He rose with the dawn, but remained laying on the bed for more than an hour, until he heard stirring below. While staring at the ceiling, he pointedly did not think about anything in particular. It was a practice he had, so he would be able to get out of bed every morning. Kind of sad, if one thought about it, but if he really lay there and thought about any of the things that came to him, he probably would go back to sleep and not wake up again. So when he heard a bit of murmuring from the first floor, he stood and geared up, then walked down the stairs.

Included with the price of a room, as it always had been, was a good, home-cooked breakfast, something he hadn't had in a long time. As he descended he smelled eggs and meat cooking, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. He seated himself at one of the three stools at the short bar and ordered his breakfast. He was halfway through it when he heard the door bell jingle and he looked up. Two entities, both on the short side, entered slowly, one of them a woman, the other resembling a lion. The door closed behind them and their identities became apparent: Red and a female with raven hair and olive skin.

He studied the woman a moment, struck by her attractiveness and a nagging familiarity. She stood all of five foot two, with eyes that matched her hair, but she had a commanding presence. Her coiffeur was well-cared-for, shiny and healthy, if a bit tousled. Her clothes, a pair of beige shorts provocatively high up on the thigh and a green, form-hugging tank top (and the form it hugged was _very_ well-formed), were rumpled, as if she'd slept in them. The most interesting accoutrement she wore was what appeared to be a highly specialized piece of armor: a large guard on her left arm, providing full coverage from her shoulder to her fingers. He'd only seem that type of armor once before, worn by a young, headstrong, stubborn ninja girl...

"Yuffie," he breathed. "And Red," he said a bit louder.

"Indeed," Red responded.

Yuffie's eyes widened almost comically. "My god, Cloud," she whispered as she stepped toward him, her mouth falling open. He stood from the stool, breakfast forgotten, and faced her fully, wearing much the same expression as her. Her hand strayed up to his face, tracing the worry lines etched into his skin, her eyes becoming moist. Then she embraced him tightly, and he returned it. A tear fell down her cheeks from each eye. "It's been so long..."

Then without warning she released him and shoved him, knocking him off-balance and nearly toppling him over a stool. He steadied himself, totally surprised. "You jerk-ass!" she shouted. "Where the hell have you been that you can't call somebody! You know how damn worried I've been all this time? You could've at least sent a goddamn letter! It's not like I move around all the time!" She held out one hand and made writing motions on it with the other. " 'Yuffie Kisaragi, Lord Godo's Palace, Wutai. Dear Yuffie, I'm still alive. Just thought you'd like to know. From Cloud.' How friggin' hard is that?" She dropped her hands and stared at him a moment more, incredulous, then her expression softened, and she embraced him once more. "I've really missed you."

All of this caught Cloud off-guard, her going from disbelief to anger to sadness within seconds. Only for a second though. He prided himself on being able to maintain his composure in any situation, and he did not lose it this time. He took it all in stride, and hugged her again in return. "I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot how to write. I broke all my fingers. I... lost my..."

She looked up at him with a half smirk and slapped his chest, playfully this time. "You're still a bad liar," she informed him, and he chuckled. He rested his head atop hers and inhaled deeply. She smelled of cherry blossoms and the road, an interesting combination, to say the least.

"You still smell good," he responded, and she gazed up into his eyes again, this time with something other than amusement. The sense of smell is more likely to be tied to a memory than any other sense, and her scent brought back memories of all those long days spent travelling, between cities, without showering, when he could have slain any beast simply by waving a fan under his arm in their direction, yet she had always seemed to smell the best, exactly like cherry blossoms and the road. Gotta find out what brand of shampoo she uses.

She seemed to be lifting her head upward, imperceptibly, and he instinctively leaned his to meet her, they were only inches apart now, her lips parted ever so slightly—

Red cleared his throat very loudly, and both of them started, the spell broken. Almost simultaneously they released each other and turned in opposite directions, suddenly very interested in anything but each other. "I'm touched by your heart-warming reunion," he stated, "but I'm sure you're both aware that we have some important business here. Perhaps we should retire upstairs to discuss things further?"

"Yeah, that would be—"

"Sounds like a good—"

Cloud and Yuffie spoke over one another, then were suddenly silent. After an awkward pause, Cloud said, "Let's go."

After paying for two beds for another day, they went upstairs and sat at the table, and briefly compared notes. None of them had uncovered anything in the last twenty-four hours, which was not surprising, so for the rest of the morning Cloud and Yuffie caught up while Red dozed in the sunlight streaming in from the eastern window.

They reminisced about their world-saving endeavor. She spoke of how she'd trained for the last year and a half to become a ninja (apparently she'd only been an apprentice when they'd recurited her). She talked about how well she'd trained Thundaga, since she'd watched him raise Renault, and he smiled modestly. She brought him up-to-date with the wolf fight the previous night just south of the river, and though she played up her participation most of all, he was still impressed that the two of them, with a chocobo, were able to fend off a pack of hungry wolves in the dark. She'd obviously come a long way from that arrogant, cock-sure teenager who'd forced her way into Avalanche and stolen their materia. She'd matured, in more than one way, since that time, and for several seconds at a time he found himself not hearing her words because he was lost in her eyes (deep and dark, engrossing) or her hair (shiny, vibrant, probably soft too, how he wanted to run his fingers through it) or, typical male, her breasts (_much_ larger than he remembered, probably soft too) or legs (so smooth looking, probably soft too, does she wax or shave?). He was amazed that, as a ninja, she wasn't picking up on these things. Maybe she was, but she was ignoring it. Who knows. The ninja work in mysterious ways. Don't question it.

Then he mentally stepped back and looked at what he was doing. He was acting like a love-sick kid, whose heart races when he holds hands, who gets blue balls for a week from a peck on the cheek. How sickening.

"Cloud."

Sickening, maybe, but he was enjoying it. He felt a certain exhiliration, like when he'd left to join SOLDIER eleven years ago. She was talking and talking and talking, and he didn't give one damn if she was annoying or not. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

"Cloud."

What? "Absecne makes the heart grow fonder"? What are you, a goddamn pansy woman? She's one fine specimen, yeah, but she's still that ridiculous little girl that took your materia and lied about it, then made you chase her all over hell and back. She's lucky you haven't belted her across the mouth.

"Cloud!"

He snapped out of his internal dialogue. "Hmm?"

She exhaled a laugh and shook her head. "What's the last thing you heard me say?"

Don't fall for that, it's one of those female doublespeak word traps. "Um—"

"I thought so." Great, she busted you not listening. Good job, you've got a mind like a steel trap. "Now, about this Xibalba." Subject change, thank god. "You think they're based here in Nibelheim, probably in the mansion."

"I think so."

"Uh huh. Have you checked into this yet?"

"Well, no, I just got here last night."

"Excuses, excuses. Get Red up and let's go then."

He raised an eyebrow and thought about firing back an angry response, but she stood up from the table and walked over to the northern window, from which the mansion could be seen, and stared at it. It was a rather depressing view from that window, but then, he wasn't looking out the window, or even at it. Rather, at the shapely posterior in the beige shorts (round and curvy, probably soft too). He cocked his head and languished his gaze on the rump for a moment more, then turned and was face to face with a red beast with one eye. He might have been scared out of his pants, but he'd kind of been expecting something like that from him. He'd always seemed to be a killjoy, butting in at the most inopportune moments, but there's no one he'd rather have next to him in a pitched battle.

"Interesting view," Red intoned, loud enough for Yuffie to hear.

"Not really," she responded, even though the comment had been directed squarely at Cloud. "It's an ugly building, and it's falling apart. Hard to believe anyone could be in there." She turned back to them. "Gotta go check it out though." She strolled back to the table and gathered up her satchel and shuriken. "I'll be downstairs." She spun and headed down the stairs with obvious extra movement in her step, causing her posterior to sway in a very alluring manner.

Damn.

"She has grown," Red observed after she had vanished to the lower level of the building.

"Uh huh," Cloud agreed.

"And you seem to have taken notice."

He looked over at Red. "Uh, you could say that, yeah." Now that he thought about it, he probably was being overt about his inspection of the female form.

"A blind man could have seen you staring at her so openly."

Cloud had to chuckle at that. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"At any rate, she is correct, we should inspect the ShinRa mansion to see if Xibalba exists. Whenever you are ready," he began descending the stairs, "we will be waiting." With that he left Cloud's line of sight.

He sighed and sagged back in his chair, wiping a hand over his face. When was the last time he'd ever done that, stared so openly at a woman? Probably when he met Tifa again at the train station in the Sector Seven slums of Midgar...

Now, don't start that shit again, Johnson. Just forget about the past for once and concentrate on the here and now, dammit. Go see what's going on in the mansion.

He stood and went downstairs, then out into the midday town square, where Red and Yuffie were indeed waiting for him. They glanced at him, and with a nod they headed to the old structure.

* * *

"There's nothing here."

They had searched the ShinRa mansion for the better part of two hours, looking high and low, in every corner and behind every piece of furniture, even the ungodly heavy safe, and had so far turned up nothing. It appeared, as with the exterior, that no one had been in this building for many years. A thick layer of dust blanketed everything, and they stirred up choking clouds of it with every step. Apparently, Red's intelligence network had been dead wrong on this one. If Xibalba had ever used this place as a headquarters, it was long ago, and they had left no trace of their activities.

"I can see that," Cloud responded to Yuffie's observation.

"What about that secret door upstairs?" she asked. "You remember where that is?"

Cloud shuddered inwardly at the thought of that dark passage below the house, dimly lit with a rough rock wall hewn from the bedrock, where the library lay, where the laboratory lay, where he and Zack had been experimented on by Hojo...

"Yeah," he replied after a moment. "Yeah, I remember. We can check down there, but I don't think we'll find anything of interest." As if on cue, they both looked over at Red, who had been sniffing the air for the last few moments.

Without acknowledging them, he said, "I do smell something emanating from the upper floor. It's faint, so it's probably old, but I can't say for sure, since the air in here has been undisturbed for some time. It's layered over the smell of the monsters that used to roost here. It's a person, and they killed the monsters long ago, then went upstairs." He started up the central staircase. "Come."

Cloud and Yuffie glanced at each other, and he shrugged. They followed upstairs and to the east, down the hallway and into the bedroom with the metal wall. Cloud approached it. He reached his hand forward and felt for the hidden gap. He found it within a few seconds and gave the door a shove, eliciting a metallic groan as it swung inward, revealing an old wooden spiral staircase and a musty smell.

"The person went down there," Red announced after a quick sniff. "They eliminated all the bats as well. There shouldn't be any surprises for us."

There was a moment's silence, then Yuffie nudged Cloud. He looked back at her and she indicated the opening with her chin. He made a face, then turned back and started down the stairs carefully. They appeared older than they were, cracked and dry and warped, creaking dangerously with their weight applied, but they held all the way down to the basement. The stone hallway was identical to the last time they came here, long and narrow with a door at the other end. Though Red had assured them nothing harmful lay down there, they were all on guard for anything. They traversed the passage without incident until they came upon a door in the wall to the left. Beyond that door, they all knew, was the coffin chamber, where they had found a man inside a coffin while chasing Sephiroth. By unspoken concensus, they decided to explore that room after looking into the library.

They approached the library door slowly, awaiting any attack, but none came. Cloud inched forward and drew his sword, holding it between him and the doorway. He tensed up, then pushed the door open with the sword. Low light emanated from the room, a forty watt bulb long overdue to be replaced glowing faintly from the lone ceiling fixture. The bookcases, the table, the large glass tubes, all had not been touched in years from the looks of things. He lowered his weapon and strode into the library, followed by the ninja and the beast, and called out, "Hello?"

Yuffie flinched involuntarily, and Red glanced at him curiously, but no response came, and he sheathed his sword. After a cursory inspection of the study, Cloud returned to the table in the main lab chamber.

"There's nothing here," Yuffie said again.

"I can see that," Cloud responded in kind.

"We have yet to enter the coffin chamber," Red offered up. Neither of them seemed too eager to follow that lead.

When no one moved for several seconds, Cloud sighed. "Fine, I'll go in there. You're both a couple of babies." He left the library without waiting for a reply and walked right over to the other door. With only a moment's hesitation, he placed his hand on the knob and twisted it.

It didn't open.

He turned it the other way. It didn't open.

He heard Yuffie and Red come up behind him. "It's locked," he informed her.

She scoffed. "Please. Not for long," she said. "Stand back." He stepped back and she bent down in front of the knob. She went to work on it for about fifteen seconds, then grunted in triumph as the knob turned fully and the door opened. She stood and faced him. "It's open now."

He gave her a false smile and a sarcastic "thanks," then pushed the door fully open and entered the chamber. Just as dark as he remembered, with one coffin in the middle of the room on a table as if on display. Just for the hell of it, he walked up to the coffin and rapped on it.

Nothing.

He waited several seconds, in the deafening silence, punctuated only by their combined respiration. Nothing stirred.

"Well, hell," he said, finally breaking the quiet, "looks like we wasted a perfectly good afternoon." He turned back to the door. "Let's go." and with that, he exited the chamber, not bothering to see if the woman and beast followed. He heard their footsteps on the barren stone floor after a moment, but he continued, carfully ascending the rotting staircase, and emerged back in the small anteroom. He left the door open, sat on the nearby chair, and waited.

A short time later, the creaking of the steps indicated Yuffie and Red coming up, and they gave him a confused look when they came out of the stairwell. He said nothing.

After what seemed like several minutes but was only about eight seconds, Red spoke. "It would appear I was incorrect."

Cloud pursed his lips and nodded once.

"Let us repair to the inn and remove this old dust."

Cloud again nodded once, stood, and left the building without looking back.


	4. Calm before the storm

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_Xibalba,_ Chapter Four  
"Calm before the storm"

After showering and changing into non-soiled clothing, the three sat about the table again. It had taken the better part of an hour to bring Yuffie up to speed regarding the current situation.

"You can understand, then, why we are concerned about the project," Red pointed out. "The possible effects on the fabric of reality are... not desirable."

"Understatement of the century," Yuffie quipped.

Cloud gave her a look, but did not argue. "The last thing that needs to happen to the Planet," he said, "is to have Sephiroth skulking around, killing people and summoning meteors. We've got to stop them."

"But they are not here," Red countered. "My intelligence was incorrect. There has been no one in this mansion since we last explored it more than four years ago."

"Then where are they?" Yuffie asked. "There's only so many cities they could hide in. I know for sure they're not in Wutai. I was just there."

"Nor are they using Cosmo as a base of operations," Red said. "I concur, there aren't many places for them to conduct business left in the world. And since it would appear as though the global PHS network is no longer functioning, we cannot simply call every city and inquire about such people. We shall, in a word, have to do things the hard way."

"You mean check out every major city on the Planet ourselves," Cloud said, nodding. "Sounds like fun." He rolled his eyes. "We'll need supplies for that, and this town ain't exactly a bustling metropolis. We can get only enough to cross the mountains here. We'll need to get to Rocket Town and get more there."

A quiet fell over the room, and after about half a minute Cloud could sense uneasiness from his companions. So he broke the silence. "Something about that you guys don't like?"

"The condition of the trails across the mountains is unknown," Red replied almost immediately. "We don't know if the paths are even still negotiable. Mount Nibel is not a popular tourist attraction. As you know, Cloud, the Mako reactor was not properly deactivated. As such, the monster population has certainly gone up since we last crossed. It will not be a pleasant hike."

Cloud had not considered that. In fact, now that he thought about it, he hadn't thought very much of this mission out at all. He'd basically been flying by the seat of his pants, and it had not gotten him that far. Nibelheim was more or less deserted, as it always had been. He should have checked out Red's intelligence before coming here. Hindsight is 20/20, as they say. But he was right, there'd probably be a hell of a lot more monsters on the mountain than the last time they came through here. Plunging headlong into god knows what probably wasn't the best course of action.

"Good point," Cloud said. "We should try to prepare for monster attacks. Who's got materia? Yuffie, I'm looking in your direction."

"Huh?" she said. "Materia? What makes you think I've got any materia?"

They stared at her.

"Well, you're right, I do," she admitted, feeling uncomfortable under their eyes. "I've got enough for me. I don't know about the rest of you though."

_I'm just glad she didn't make off with the lot of it after we beat Sephiroth,_ Cloud thought. _I probably would've been up shit creek a few times if I hadn't had my materia._ "Well, he who heals others shall be healed in kind," he said aloud. "Keep that in mind."

They exited the building and found the day had become quite ugly. Dark, gray, overcast, the threat of rain heavy in the air. The ambient temperature had dropped quite a bit as well, which was common in these parts. It was nothing for one day to be baking hot and the next to freeze the well over. Cloud was intimately familiar with the erratic weather patterns of this area, and he was not surprised. Disheartened, yes, for they may have to cross the Nibel mountain range in a downpour, but not surprised. The wind was coming in from the west, so he looked to the sky in that direction and saw a dark mass of clouds surging eastward. He figured that would be the storm system, and it would be here by nightfall, maybe a bit later, and would last for several hours, if not a whole day.

Fantastic.

* * *

Fantastic. Another meeting with the Board of Donors. This time Enali had considerably better news to report . . . but also bad.

The portal had been repaired and reactivated without issue, and they had been conducting experiments to determine the maximum and minimum amounts of chronological displacement possible by the device. So far the results had been encouraging. The maximum distance along the timeline they'd been able to return a test subject from was estimated to be somewhere in the neighborhood of a few thousand years in each direction. This was verified by chronological analysis of a control object, a stainless steel bucket, recovered by the guinea pig in the future. In the other direction, a flora sample, a handful of grass, was collected. There were only a few small problems.

First, the effects of time travel on the human body were just short of fatal. The chroniton field emitted by the portal caused the person to enter a state of instability at the atomic level, which worsened with multiple trips. Eventually, it was hypothesized, the person would lose molecular cohesion and fly apart at the seams, so to speak, in transit, having their atoms irreversibly scattered across time. If they happened to survive the jumps, they would be rendered sterile, impotent, and would develop a terminal form of cancer. As such, they were critically short of volunteers to test the portal. This flaw would have to be corrected, since it was very likely that more than one trip would be necessary to locate the Great One.

The second small problem involved the timeline analysis sensors. The theory was that since they had a doorway into the time stream, they should be able to track anything, whether it be a bucket, a bug or a boy, as it moved along the timeline. The stipulation was that it had to have existed within the space-time continuum at some time or another. Since every rock on the ground exists, it seemed a foregone conclusion that they could easily locate the Great One and send someone to him to avert his death at the hands of Avalanche.

Such was not the case, however. The sensors had failed spectacularly, not being able to track anything, even when homing beacons designed specifically to give off the frequency being scanned for were attached to test objects thrown randomly into the past and future. It would appear that locating the Great One would be a bit more difficult than originally anticipated. They would have to send an operative to search him out and convince him of the coming events.

That in and of itself would be tricky. Sephiroth was the greatest warrior who ever lived, who did naught but what he chose to do. He was also incredibly confident in his own abilities. It would probably be prudent to give him a glimpse into the present, his future, to show him that he does not live, and who is responsible.

All this he related to the Board. They responded that the flaws that caused the portal to kill its users was priority to be remedied, and he had one week in which to do so. There would be no further usage until then. If his staff did not rectify the situation, Enali would personally make the next jump... to an undetermined destination which, in all likelihood, would not be very pleasant.

* * *

Since it would take the better part of a day to cross Mount Nibel, they decided it would be best to stay at the inn another night and start out at dawn. Cloud purchased enough supplies to last them until Rocket Town, where they would hopefully be able to acquire an alternate means of transportation. The worst part about this trek was, if Cloud had been alone he could make the journey in a few hours, since he possessed a mount capable of mountain climbing. Yuffie had sent her chocobo back to Wutai the previous day, and Renault had not been seen for some time. Cloud hadn't been concerned though; he knew how to take care of himself, and the wolves in this area certainly weren't a danger to a gold chocobo, the fleetest animal this side of a cactuar. He'd been trained to return to the ranch if separated from Cloud for too long, so that's probably where he'd gone.

Cloud knew full well the dangers of crossing the Nibel range, having grown up at the base here in Nibelheim. When he was younger, and he'd had a bad day or just felt like it, he'd gone and explored the mountain for hours at a time, often until dark, which would worry his mom to no end. Invariably he'd come back with some damage, but his injuries had steadily decreased as he gained climbing experience. He'd be the first to admit, though, he was no expert; he'd climbed the Corel and Midgar ranges a few times in his travels, but always with Renault, who was more sure-footed than any grizzled guide on the Planet. Red had been born in the Cosmo Desert, so he was a natural when it came to craggy terrain. Yuffie said that part of her ninja training was to scale Da-Chao on a regular basis, so she would fare well. So it seemed that only he might have trouble with this leg of the trip.

Even though he knew they had a hard day ahead of them, Cloud found he couldn't fall asleep. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling for a couple hours listening to the first drops of rain fall, mind blank but occasionally wandering to the woman who slept peacefully in the next bed. After they stopped Meteor and fought off the people of Kalm, she had offered him residence at her home in Wutai. He had accepted, having nowhere else to go. He stayed with her for the better part of a year, and she had helped him through the grieving process. But he felt as though physical and mental atrophy was creeping up on him, and he had left in the night without telling Yuffie. He was sure she had been upset—who wouldn't be?—but it was something he felt he had to do. He didn't know then and still didn't know now why he left to meander about the Planet, what he hoped to find, where he was going... He just knew he had to find something. After a few weeks of aimless wandering he settled on trying to find the Promised Land. Aeris had said that you don't "know" where the Promised Land is, you just search and travel until you feel it, that this is the Promised Land. So he searched and traveled, looking for the Promised Land of Cetran legend, always just beyond the horizon, just out of reach. Throughout the whole journey, he never once thought of returning to Midgar, which was probably the one place he would find the information he needed to reach the Promised Land. All the research Hojo had conducted—at Ifalna and Aeris' expense—was meticulously documented, backed up and stored securely in underground bunkers, unaffected by the destruction of Meteor. Hindsight.

Yuffie would probably have insisted on coming with him had she known he was going somewhere. Maybe he'd still seen the arrogant kid in her and didn't want her along, and that's why he didn't want her to know. Maybe he thought she'd just slow him down. Slow him down... on a possibly never-ending search for the Promised Land, where speed really didn't matter. Whatever, point was, he didn't want her to know he was leaving. Didn't matter what the reason was. But now he wished he hadn't left her high and dry like he did. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't think about her, and Aeris, and Tifa... He abandoned them all. Sure, the circumstances were different in each case, but they all had the same result: Aeris murdered by Sephiroth; Tifa brought down by mutated shades of the people of Kalm; Yuffie... still alive. He'd have to make sure she stayed that way.

He rolled onto his side and gazed at her sleeping form on the next bed, blanket haphazardly strewn about her body as if she'd tried to throw it off. She was so peaceful and sedate, totally unlike the firecracker she was while conscious. _Beautiful, just beautiful. You're a grade A ass for dropping her like a hot rock like you did. She's right, it's not like you couldn't have let her know you weren't in a dragon's belly or something. Ass._

He continued watching her sleep for some time, taking a simple pleasure in just looking at her, the steady rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the occasional finger or foot twitch indicating REM sleep. _God, she's beautiful._ He began to doze off...

"She missed you, you know. Even I can see that."

The soft but distinctive voice of Red brought him back to awakeness. He didn't turn to him. "And I her," he replied. "I shouldn't have left her."

"It is an unfortunate state of affairs that the future is written in clay, while the past has hardened into stone. I would not recommend leaving her again."

Cloud nodded to himself, then seriously thought about what would make Red, of all people, say things like that. He normally didn't comment on matters of the heart, so Cloud felt he probably should heed such advice well. Then he scoffed soundlessly. The very notion that Red even saw something between them made him feel even more pigheaded.

Again he dozed, lulled by the steady, monotonous thrum of the night's rain...

* * *

_"What's that?" _

_Randomly across the plain, thin green tendrils of light began emerging from the earth. First one, as if tentatively, testing the waters, then another, then dozens, hundreds, multiplying, until the horizon in all directions was bathed in emerald brilliance._

_Without even realizing it, he responded, "Lifestream."_

_The Lifestream poured out from the earth, wending its way toward them and the wrong of the Meteor. Holy just wasn't doing its job. It seemed as though it wasn't hindering the black magic at all; perversely, it was helping it to demolish Midgar. But that would likely change once the Lifestream reached the Holy-Meteor contention._

_His suspicions were confirmed as the Lifestream converged upon Holy and Meteor with a blinding viridian flash. He turned his eyes away and shaded them with an arm, as did the others. The brightness lasted for some time before slowly fading away into the familiar perpetual darkness surrounding the metropolis. When he looked again, he saw no trace of Meteor, Holy or the Lifestream, as if they'd never existed. He knew better as he surveyed the devastation of Midgar._

_His train of thought suddenly pulled the emergency brake cord as he remembered just how close the burrow of Kalm really was to Midgar. "Shit," he muttered. Then louder, "Cid, get us to Kalm. We've got to see what happened there."_

_"Indeed," the red beast interjected. "That was a rather large shockwave. We must render aid if anyone is injured." The craft suddenly lurched to starboard and acelerated, rather unnecessarily, since Kalm was but a stone's throw away, and took less than a minute to arrive by air. They left the aura of darkness around Midgar and descended toward the hamlet, bumping to a stop a few hundred yards from the outskirts._

_AVALANCHE disembarked from the craft and hastened to the village to ascertain any damage. Some buildings had received minor structural damage, nothing more severe than the last hurricane did, but more disturbing was the awkward shambling of the townsfolk. As he approached one to ask if anyone was hurt, she turned on him suddenly. With pulsing malachite replacing the orbs of her eyes, she shrieked piercingly and flailed at him with raking claws. He jumped back, trying to evade, but yelped when his arm was scored and four streams of blood welled forth. He glimpsed his companions being accosted by townspeople in a similar fashion. He turned back just in time to dodge a full body tackle from the crazed woman. All around him ordinary people were lashing out at each other, and he saw the same beryl, unfocused eyes._

_Above the sounds of struggle, the red beast called, "They have been infused with enormous amounts of Mako instantaneously! It has driven them mad!"_

_He had to agree, since three more people lunged at him and he had only enough reaction time to push them back. Then pain lanced out from his unarmored shoulder as another slashed him. He whirled and drew his sword in one motion, then spun a swath about him, not hitting any of the people, just trying to clear an area around him. He did so several more times, and each time the swarms danced back out of range, then immediately pressed forward._

_"Defend yourselves!" he shouted. Then without delay his blade flashed at the nearest person who failed to step back from his range. Crimson splashed onto the cobblestone, and they fell. Three more came forward to take her place, and they too were dispatched. Then he heard the sharp report of pistol and gatling, and the howl and cries of joined battle. Grunts, panting, anguished moans. He heard a shout for assistance, his name called by her, and he glanced in that direction to see her beset by some dozen of them, flailing, trying to keep them away but not succeeding. He whipped his sword around him again and charged to her, cutting down all who stood before him, but they were many, many more than he thought would be here in this small town, probably refugees from Midgar, surging masses he couldn't move quickly enough through, he lost sight of her, washed away by countless zombies, his rage peaked and he brandished his weapon unhaltingly to clear the sea of flesh until the last before him lay at his feet—_

_Bloodied, battered, bruised, she lay beneath one, and he rudely shoved them aside, dropped his sword, crouched and gently lifted her head. After a seeming eternity she opened her burgundy orbs, eyes so full of life but curiously flat now, she drew and rattlingly released a breath, a thin trail of red from her mouth, she was hurt, maybe hurt bad, where's the restore materia, he fumbled through his pouch to find it, god where is it, calm down or you won't be able to use it—_

_"I love you, Cloud."_

_She closed her eyes and exhaled._

_She didn't inhale._

_Tifa. Tifa. TIFA! His vision blurred and hot wetness ran down his face. No, no, don't die on me, DON'T YOU DIE ON ME GODDAMMIT!_

_He clutched her to his chest. A strangled cry of unfathomable, inconsolable grief. "No, no, no, Tifa no, god no, Tifa, please, don't," continued utterance of denial, abnegation, appeals to the heavens, soft hands placed upon his back ignored, more denial, pleas._

_They set Kalm to the torch. The largest funeral pyre the world had seen before since, the only fitting way to put them to rest. After the last ember had gone out, a pall of bleakness about them, they reboarded the Highwind, her cradled in his arms, and set out for the only place she could be laid in final somnolence. _

He awoke before the dawn. He mourned.


	5. Charlie—Upsilon

_Xibalba,_ Chapter 5  
"Charlie-Upsilon"

Midnight. Rain thrummed on the roof. Much of the sound was cancelled out by insulation in the attic, though a light pitter-patter could still be heard on the second floor. On the first floor, it was more pronounced; the drops of water falling from the sky impacted the cobblestone street with a flat _smack_ which was more easily transmitted.

The sound was of a different timbre than the soul-crushing typhoons she was used to, so she lie awake, occasionally putting a pillow over her head in a vain attempt to drown out the drone of the storm. Eventually she gave up and rose to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing her face and trying not to imagine what her hair must look like. A disaster, to be sure. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom in short order, revealing her crimson companion curled up on the rug near the table.

She relieved herself in the restroom, then drew and drank a glass of water. As she stepped through the doorway, her eyes fell on him. Typical for him, he lay atop the bedclothes, fully dressed, including boots, hands cradling his head, sword resting against the nightstand. Even while sleeping he's prepared for anything. Lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Lean but powerful arms, taut abs, a hell of an ass... _At least his sword isn't overcompensating,_ she thought.

The sword. Though she'd seen it used countless times in battle, she'd never had the chance to examine it up close. Her eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, and lamplight spilled up the stairs from below, so illumination was adequate.

The edge had been honed by laser when he'd been staying in Wutai—Wutaian laser sharpenings are guaranteed for the life of the weapon. Width of the blade: thirty centimeters. Overall length: one hundred fifty-two centimeters, with twenty-eight devoted to the hilt. Mass was something ridiculous like thirty-five kilograms—she only weighed forty-four, so it was near impossible for her to lift it. Its dull surface was gouged and scored numerous times, and each one had a story behind it. Apparently he'd never needed any more than two materia in battle, because that's just how many slots had been drilled into it. Set into those slots were two green orbs, one containing ice magic, the other stocked with lightning. Both had been mastered long ago, and their divisions sold, but he kept the originals. The sword and those materia orbs were the last remnants of his friend Zack.

In a natural progression, her eyes rose to the hilt. Wrapped in tough leather, it provided an excellent gripping surface for his gloves. However, there were two objects attached that did not seem to belong on a warrior's weapon: a pink ribbon which looked almost new; and a dark red scrunchie hair band. Her eyes widened as recognition washed over her, and she reached out to gingerly touch the hair accessories.

"I don't normally keep them there."

She gasped and took a step back, heart instantly accelerating into fight-of-flight mode. Noiselessly and without drawing her attention, he had turned onto his side and propped his head up, and his luminous blue eyes were watching her.

"Jesus Christ, Cloud," she whispered angrily, "don't do that shit to me!"

He closed his eyes and chuckled softly. "The great ninja Yuffie, foiled by a sleeping man."

"Oh you son of a bitch." With that, she leapt on top of him.

After a brief struggle filled with giggling on both parts, they calmed down and lay next to each other, he on his back, she resting her head on his chest.

"Where do you normally keep them?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, the uh... I, uh, wear them actually."

"You wear them."

"Yeah, one on each arm."

She raised her head and regarded him skeptically for a moment, then lowered it back to his chest. "How do you tie the ribbon?"

"With my teeth."

A beat. Then, "It looks brand new."

"It always has."

"Because it was hers?"

"Because it was hers."

"And the scrunchie?"

"I wash it."

Another pause. "I miss them."

The arm around her hugged. "I know. So do I."

Silence. She idly scratched the shirt covering his stomach. The clicking of claws on hard wood, and Red appeared at the side of the bed. They looked at him.

There was a glint in his eye. "We've got trouble."

* * *

She pressed the END key and closed the phone.

"Who was it?" he asked groggily.

"Warren in Nibelheim."

"Nibelheim? What is so friggin' important that he just had to call at one in the fuckin' morning?"

"Cloud."

"Cloud? What about Cloud?"

"He is there in Nibelheim. He is with a woman and a lion, as he put it."

That got him to sit up and click on the bedside lamp. "Avalanche?"

She directed her viridian eyes to his cerulean and pushed back an errant lock of chestnut brown hair. "It looks that way. His last known position was in the Cosmo Desert. Now he is in Nibelheim with two others. A likely destination is the rocket town where the pilot lives."

"That would leave one more... What about the science experiment?"

She shook her head. " 'Either he's dead or he never existed in the first place' is the report I keep getting. We can't discount him though. He _was_ a Turk, after all. They're good at not being found."

He nodded thoughtfully, gaze unfocused. Then he blinked a few times and ran his hand through his unruly black tresses. "Wait, how do you know that? I didn't even know that about him."

_I was with the ShinRa Manufacturing Department in Administrative Research—otherwise known as the Turks._

"Because... he told me."

She fainted.

She regained consciousness some minutes later on the bed. His concerned countenance morphed into a scowl. "Your memories are resurfacing."

She frowned. "What...?"

"Goddammit Loren, why don't you tell me about shit like this? Fainting like that is dangerous. Something has to be wrong with you. People don't just faint for no reason."

"Enali, what are you talking about?"

He shook his head. "We'll have the professor look at you first thing in the morning. In the mean time," he held up the PHS, "I'm gonna call and have Chupon and Ultros sent to the rocket town ahead of Cloud."

She raised a perfect eyebrow at the names he said. "Chupon and Ultros?"

He laughed as he opened the phone and scrolled through the list of names. "Yeah, kinda weird, huh? Well, they didn't like being called Charlie and Upsilon, so I told them they had exactly seven minutes to come up with a better name."

"And if they didn't?"

He grinned.

She scoffed and shook her head. "You're bad. I'm going back to sleep." She rolled over and covered herself with the blanket.

Momentarily he kissed her on the cheek and shut off the lamp, then left the room to make his calls. She lie awake for a short time, wondering why she "remembered" what she did. She had read the old ShinRa dossiers and the professor's dry, unenthusiastic—though painfully descriptive—reports on the experimentation performed on him, but she'd never met him, so how could he have told her that he was a Turk? She'd seen pictures of him, but they didn't have the kind of detail she'd seen in her mind's eye—the eyes, the voice, the coffins... It didn't make any sense.

Sleep claimed her.


	6. Geography and honor

_Xibalba,_ Chapter Six  
"Geography and honor"

Dawn, behind an unbroken gray sky. The only indication of morning's arrival was a general increase in light. Though the rain had ceased overnight, the sun still rose obscured by clouds from horizon to horizon. The cobblestones were slick and treacherous to those unaccustomed to walking on them. The air was palpably thick with moisture; unless the weather remained cool throughout the day, the afternoon and evening would be oppressive.

They ate breakfast in silence. The only topic of discussion they were considering was essentially off-limits due to present company. If they started talking about the overheard phone conversation with the man on the phone standing right there, it might lead to complications. Their unspoken concensus was to delay discourse until after they left town.

Breakfast finished, dishes cleared. They collected their gear upstairs and readied themselves for the next portion of their trip: the forbidding Nibel mountain range.

The hamlet of Nibelheim was situated at the mouth of what amounted to a long canyon that narrowed into a pass. The range read like an oscilloscope, literally making mountains out of molehills, terminating at bleak Mount Nibel, peaking some four kilometers above sea level. Within it, like a cancer, lie one of ShinRa Electric Power Company's Mako reactors—machines that extract and process the Lifestream, lifeblood of the Planet, and convert it into electricity. Everyone in the world knew of the dangers of Mako use within weeks of the fall of ShinRa, but it would have been the height of folly to cut the Mako electricity supply without a new infrastructure to put in its place. Suitable replacements, such as coal, natural gas and fossil fuels, would take years, if not a decade or more, to implement. While the most detrimental reactors in Midgar had been rendered inoperable by Meteor, the rest of the world still relied on Mako.

A largely unfriendly path had been cut over the years to travel through the mountains, moving over a notoriously unreliable rope bridge and into a huge cavern that emptied onto foothills on the northwest side of the mount. After that was another day's trek around the far western edge of the Corel range, and at least another two days to traverse the plains on which the rocket launch pad had been constructed.

Cloud sighed. He wasn't looking forward to this.

He glanced at Yuffie. Nod.

He looked at Red. Nod.

He adjusted his satchel, filled to bursting with dried meats and fruits and potions. Head for the door.

"Midgar."

Stop. Turn. The inkeep.

"What," Cloud said.

"The answers you seek lie in Midgar."

"What are you talking about?"

He leaned on the counter with both hands. "I know what you're looking for, and I know why you're looking for it. You'll find the answer in Midgar." With that, he placed a sign on the counter that read BE BACK IN 10 MINUTES and walked into the kitchen.

Cloud looked at Yuffie, who shrugged, then Red, who shook his head. They left.

They stopped near the well, and Yuffie spoke up. "What the fuck was he on about?"

"Perhaps the answers we seek lie in Midgar," Red replied.

"Well duh, that's what he said, but what does it mean?"

"It's a trap," Cloud interjected.

"I concur," Red concurred, "considering the subject matter of the phone call last night."

"So maybe we don't go to Midgar," said Yuffie.

"No, we'll go," Cloud responded, "even if it is a trap. All the better, really. If it's a trap, that means the enemy is there. If the enemy is there, that means we can stop them."

"How do you know they're the enemy?"

"Would you consider anyone trying to bring back Sephiroth an ally?"

No response.

"Right then, they're the enemy. Now—"

_Breeeeeeep._

What?

"Phone?" Yuffie said, incredulous. "Phone!"

_Breeeeeeep._

"Phone indeed," Red chuckled. "I was under the impression that the PHS network was nonfunctional."

"So was I." Yuffie's voice dripped with venom and her eyes were filled with fire.

_Breeeeeeep._

Cloud managed to dig the phone out of his pocket and was greeted with a caller ID display that read CID. He flipped it open. "Hello?"

_"Cloud? Is that you, Cloud?"_

"Yeah, this is Cloud."

_"Oh, thank god. This is Shera—Cid. Cid! I got him on the phone. Where are you?"_

"Uh, Nibelheim. Why—"

_Nibelheim? He's in Nibelheim! I'll be there in an hour."_

"Wait, Shera, what's—" The line went dead. He looked at the display: CALL ENDED 00:16.

"Shera?" Yuffie asked. "What's up with her?"

"I don't know," he replied, frowning. He closed the phone and returned it to his pocket. "She seemed a little upset though, and she said she'd be here in an hour."

"An hour? Where is she? How's she gonna get here so fast?"

"Well, she's with Cid, so I'd wager she's at Rocket Town. I'd also be willing to put money on her flying here, maybe in the Tiny Bronco, since it would've taken us at least a few days to get there on foot."

She heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank the gods. Now we don't have to walk across the mountains." A moment of content silence. Then she lashed out and punched him in the arm. Hard.

He let out an involuntary "agh" from the sudden pain. "Bakayaro!" she swore at him in her native tongue. Oh good. He knew he was in trouble once she started with the Wutaian. He had learned a bit while he was there, enough to pick up the gist of a conversation, but this minute-long tirade peppered with swears, some he knew, some he didn't, certainly was _not_ a conversation. He got a few sentences though: "I thought you were dead" and "if your phone works why didn't you call" and "you're an insensitive prick" and "you only care about yourself" and the coup de grace "why do I have to compete with two dead women" and punctuated with a cry of frustration and a hearty and childish "Kuraudo no _baka!_"

He reached out and grabbed her shoulders, ignoring the flare of pain in his arm (damn, she must have hit a nerve or something). She tried to twist away, and he roughly pulled her into an embrace. She struggled for a moment, then began sobbing into his chest.

"Kuraudo no baka," she said again, much softer.

He stroked her hair. "I know, I'm an idiot," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't know about the phone. I never received any calls, and I never had a signal. I'm sorry."

She sniffed loudly and shook her head. "No, it's okay." Her voice was slightly muffled by his shirt. "I shouldn't have said those things. You're not an inconsiderate prick, and you do care about other people. I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that."

"Yuffie."

She looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, face wet with tears. His eyes were serious, jaw set, face stoic.

"Do you remember the Gold Saucer?"

A beat. She nodded, slowly.

"You weren't the only one who came to my room that night."

Her eyes widened as realization swept over her.

"They both came before you did. Aeris wanted to go watch a few chocobo races, maybe place a bet or two. Tifa wanted to race me in the G-Bike game at the arcade."

New tears formed.

"I turned them both down."

They fell.

"I knew you'd come, so I told them no. There never was a competition, because you'd already won."

Slowly, infinitesimally, he lowered his head, and his lips met hers, and they remained that way for several seconds. She let out a low moan...

...that turned into a growl, and she shoved away from him. Caught off guard, he was propelled back into one of the posts that held the well aloft, knocking his breath away and sending a brief flash of stars across his vision. He stumbled forawrd a few steps, and she jumped back. He put his hand on the back of his head, but it came away clean; the scalp hadn't been broken. He looked up at her.

"Oh, are you _kidding me_ with this shit!" she howled.

Cloud, rightfully so, was stunned.

"That was a good line, Cloud," she continued. "That was a _damn_ good line. You had me for a minute there. But I'm not that easy."

He blinked. What?

"The last lesson my master taught me... I'll never forget her words: 'There are many dangers in this world, Yuffie-chan. Moreso because you are a woman. One of those dangers is love. You must not fall so freely in love, for it will be your undoing. You must _fight._ You must fight _him._ For if he will not fight _you_ for your love, then he will fight _no one_ for your love. If he chooses _not_ to fight, or fights and _does not_ overcome you, then he is _not_ worth your time, _or_ your love.' So, Cloud, if you love me, then we must do battle." She thrust a finger at him. "Cloud! Will you fight me? Will you fight _for_ me? I give you one minute. Choose wisely!"

Insanity. She is insane. That's the only explanation. That, or that hit to the head actually rendered him unconscious, and this is a delusional dream, a bizarro world where hamburgers eat people and nothing is as it seems. The throbbing in his head and the ache of his back countered the dream argument though, so he rummaged in his satchel for a high strength potion, or hi-potion. He found a bottle of the distinctive green liquid—"Consistency of slime, tastes like lime!"—popped the top and consumed its contents in short order. Within seconds its effects became apparent, deadening the pain in his back and making the headache a distant memory. Now he could think clearly.

She has lost her mind. In a way, her speech told him that she was, in fact, in love with him, but she was honor-bound by her master not to admit it unless the one she loved was able to best her in single combat. Crazy, yes, but he had to admire the rationale. It was a hell of a lot simpler than the elaborate courtship rituals everyone else went through, and he'd always preferred physical bruises to emotional ones anyway.

It would be an interesting matchup, to say the least. Cloud—Mako- and Jenova-enhanced, trained by the ShinRa military and SOLDIER programs in many forms of combat, including several hand-to-hand techniques. Yuffie—a born thief and master of ninjutsu, well-versed in arts both ancient and obscure.

She turned back to face him, looking grimly expectant. The minute was up.

He smiled humorlessly. "Kisaragi Yuffie. You honor me with the issuance of this challenge. I accept, so that you will know the depth and breadth of that which you and I feel but cannot articulate. I will pull no punches, and I expect no less of you."

The determined set of her countenance did not waver.

"Good."


	7. Take on me

_Xibalba,_ Chapter Seven  
"Take on me"

They stood opposite each other on the grassy plain just outside Nibelheim, five meters apart. The entire village had heard their heated exchange and had turned out to watch two of the world's heroes pummel each other into ground beef. The two dozen-odd men, women and children waited expectantly, this being the most excitement they'd had in a dog's age.

Her terms were simple: fight to your fullest; use any techniques you have at your disposal, ut no weapons; it is finished when one party falls unconscious or submits. Accordingly, he had doffed his sword and satchel, which carried potions and a few materia orbs, and charged Red with their care. Likewise she divested herself of her arm guard, materia, and many shuriken and fuma hidden on her person, also leaving it all with Red, who sat nearby to insure neither combatant broke the rules.

He marched through a series of stretches and warm-up exercizes with military precision. He hadn't been in a serious conflict since Avalanche went against Sephiroth. He had kept himself in shape in the intervening time, but he knew he would be in some hurt regardless of the outcome. As he completed his exercizes he noticed she hadn't moved at all, but she came to life as he stopped.

Like a river of quicksilver, she flowed from a t'ai chi routine into various kata. Her lithe frame never once moved in a jerky or sharp manner—always smooth, bordering on serene, an extreme contrast to his almost wooden display. His was utilitarian; hers, art. He did all he could to not be mesmerized by her.

Her warm-up concluded, she stood straight and clapped her hands together, then sent a piercing gaze his way. As if on cue, a stiff breeze blew past them, and the grass danced its ages-old ballet. The anticipation of the townsfolk was apparent—their preparation had taken quite a bit of time. They mattered not. He wasn't doing this for them.

Her voice rang clear as a bell. "Sturaifu Kuraudo-san," she began. "You come to do battle for Kisaragi Yuffie. For her body. For her mind. For her heart. This is no light undertaking. If you fall, she will be lost to you forever. Are you prepared?"

He clapped his hands in a similar fashion and echoed her words. "I am Sturaifu Kuraudo. I have come to do battle for Kisaragi Yuffie-san. For her body. For her mind. For her heart. I acknowledge that this is no light undertaking, and if I fall she will be lost to me forever. I am prepared."

They bowed to each other and took up their stances, he in a military pose, no abundant strengths or glaring weaknesses, while she adopted a crane stance. Fitting, really, for one who moved as gracefully as she did.

_This oughta be good,_ he thought as he waited for her to attack first. She didn't disappoint.

In the seven-tenths of a second before she did, he recalled the words of his army drill instructor: _The key to any encounter that is either evenly matched or stacked against you is to learn your opponent's style. Utilizing this strategy, you can effectively defend, counter, and take the offensive. The first step, however, is to evade and observe the opening salvo, to get a feel for their potential. The evade and defend segments serve another purpose: to frustrate and tire. Once frustrated, they will become sloppy; once worn, their strength falls off. That is the time to counter and attack. Disable them if you can. Kill them if you must. But always emerge victorious._

Sir, yes, sir.

She charged forward, arriving a lot sooner than he anticipated, bringing a right fist. The first strike always carries the most power, so he made a quick calculation: based on trajectory, it was aimed at his sternum. If it connected, at minimum, it would forcefully remove the air from his lungs, and at worst it would cave his chest in.

Obviously she meant business.

Step one—evade.

He waited until she fully committed to the punch, then twisted his upper body to the side. Her momentum carried her another few meters where she planted her feet and leapt at him again with a knee.

Step two—defend.

He pivoted and braced himself with his back foot, bringing his arms up and crossing them. Milliseconds later her knee was there, and the force of it reverbrated through his body and _pushed_ him back about a meter, leaving ruts in the ground.

Her feet met the earth again, and she immediately went into a flurry of punches. He avoided or deflected them with ease at first. But it seemed as though each successive one came a little faster than the last, a little more difficult to dodge or block, until she started landing glancing blows on his upper arms, shoulders and chest. That did not bode well.

Most animals, humand included, when presented with stimulus classified as a threat, exhibited a physiological reaction called acute stress response, more colloquially known as fight-or-flight. In its most simple terms, the adrenal glands produce a huge amount of adrenaline and dump it into the bloodstream all at once. This causes an acceleration of heart rate and respiration, among other things, along with a sudden short-term burst of energy available to the subject, enabling them to defend themselves or run away quickly. This is followed by an extended period of much lower energy. In Cloud, though, this was not the case. The adrenaline is absorbed by usually-dormant Jenova cells in his blood. The Jenova then seek out and react with Mako present in his tissue, producing a much more potent and longer-lasting energy. This, in effect, made him much stronger and faster, while decreasing his reaction time to near zero, with an indeterminate duration—until the threat is no longer a threat.

Such a reaction occured within Cloud, and in a matter of seconds he felt an explsion of energy in his muscles. Conversely, she appeared to have a slow spell cast upon her, so that he perceived her to be moving much slower, making it laughably easy to evade and defend.

Step three—counter.

She wound up a right in Junon and brought it at him, and almost casually he caught it. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she tried to pull her fist back. When it didn't budge, she attempted to drive it forward again, with a similar result. He saw worry and indecision flash across her face for a moment, after which she lashed out with her left. He flicked it away and made his first non-defensive move: like greased lightning, his right hand lanced forth and impacted her left bicep.

From the word go she had been eerily quiet; he couldn't even hear her breathing over the rustling of her clothes. Now, though, she cried out, and if he hadn't been clenching her hand she would've been sent flying back several meters. As it was she was flung sideways, but she caught herself and remained standing. Involuntary tears of pain formed in her eyes and slid down her cheeks, and he heard her teeth grinding together, holding back any further noise. Her left arm now hung useless at her side, the beginnings of a monstrous bruise already evident.

Somewhere in the neighborhood of one point four seconds later her left leg came at him up high. He halted that attack by grabbing her ankle, which put her in a very poor position, tactically speaking. She was now off-balance, with only the tip of her right foot touching the ground.Her left arm was dead, her right arm and left leg captured. She was too close to deliver an effective right kick, too far away to headbutt. He had her, and her look of wide-eye trepidation intimated that she knew it.

However, she was the one who decided on their current course of action; he had no choice but to follow it to completion.

Step four—attack.

"Gomen nasai," he apologized, for he was truly sorry for what was about to take place. Before her confusion could set in, he brought his right knee up to strike the hamstring of the leg he held. He pulled the blow somewhat, not wanting to outright break the femur. He tried not to imagine what it must feel like—probably a charlie horse to the nth degree, if the way she threw her head back and screamed was any indication. Again, she would have fallen had he not been holding her.

She was sobbing now, and her visage was a study in agony the likes of which he had never witnessed in his twenty-five year existence. He hated it, it broke his heart, but he would weep for her later. Right now, he had to finish before he did any more damage.

"Yuffie." Nothing. The reply he received was her head drooping forward and the gut-wrenching sound of crying. "Let's stop this. I don't want to hurt you any more. Please." Still nothing. "Onegai shimasu ka." He waited. Several seconds passed. Her lack of resopnse was disheartening. "Then I must."

He released her arm and leg and instantly brought her into his embrace. This was no friendly hug, though, and he informed her of this by lifting her off the ground and squeezing his arms together. This forced her to exhale violently, and her expression became a silent scream. He held her for a half minute while she struggled against him and her face slowly turned red.

Step five—disable if you can.

"Submit," he said.

She drew in enough air to choke out a single word: "No."

This saddened him, but did not surprise. She had always been bull-headed, not giving up even when literally in the arms of failure.

He increased the pressure to the point just before she would be crushed to death and held it. The seconds wore into a minute, and that minute passed into another, and her struggles diminished until she was limp and still.

Step six—victory.

Shit.

He released the pressure on her and quickly shifted the position of his arms to cradle her. She offered no resistance, having passed out either from the pain or from lack of oxygen. He kneeled and slowly, gently, placed her on the grass.

In a flash Red appeared at his side, carrying a green baseball, which he dropped into Cloud hand. He grasped the orb and felt the familiar power of restore magic in it. He drew out the high-level "curaga" magic, focusing and enhancing it inside him with the remainder of his Mako- and Jenova-fueled strength, and directed it at Yuffie's unmoving form through his other hand.

The magic—which could only be described as multicolored sparkles—washed over her body, causing the angry purple inflammation on her bicep to fade back into pale, unbroken skin. Unseen, it also healed her bruised ribs and damaged thigh.

He closed his eyes and sighed, then rubbed a hand over his face. "Dammit, Red, I didn't want this to happen," he said. "I didn't want to hurt her. She's just so goddamn stubborn!"

Red shook his head. "Indeed," he agreed. "She always has been, and the probability of that changing is astronomically low, unfortunately." He paused, considering his words, and looked at the human. "I can offer no sagely advice this time, Cloud. This is a purely emotional matter, where logic dares not tread. I can only hope that, once she awakens, she will feel the same about this situation as she did beforehand. And of course, will _you?"_

He shoved the materia into his pocket, then scooped her into his arms and stood. "An excellent question. I'll be sure to get back to you when I know the answer." He began walking back to Nibelheim to lay her somewhere confortable and wait out the remaining time until Shera arrived.

Red chuckled as he fell into step beside him. "That was quite the whirlwind courtship."

The townspeople parted.

Cloud huffed once in an approximation of a laugh. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."


	8. Turbulance

_Xibalba,_ Chapter Eight  
"Turbulance"

"I don't know, Red. I wonder about her sometimes. I mean, really, what would possess her to want to do that? I can understand wanting to respect her sensei's wishes or whatever, but... I didn't wanna hurt her, but she didn't leave me much of a choice."

"Why are you trying to validate yourself to me?"

"Uh... I'm not trying to—"

"Rationalize it however you like, Cloud, but the fact is that, if you'll pardon the expression, she asked you to prove your love for her by kicking her ass, and you complied. Although, had I been placed in the same scenario, I don't know that I would have done any different. As I said before, there is no voice of reason when emotions such as love become involved." He ended the conversation by padding over to the rug and lying down.

Cloud snorted and plopped onto the bed, then looked at Yuffie. She lay on the next bed with the appearance of peacefully sleeping. She seemed to be okay—breathing regularly, no bruises—despite what he had done to her. The tissue around her eyes was still red and puffy from her earlier crying, but that would go away soon. He knew from experience that she would be very sore when she woke up—hell, he was sore from all those light blows she landed on him. Restore magic, even at its most potent, could only heal damaged muscle, skin and blood vessels. It could not soothe raw nerves or remove lactic acid buildup; those things would have to be taken care of by the body's natural recovery process. Potions helped, but their effect was limited. Only rest could allow the body to fully recover.

As he pondered this, there was a commotion from below, and a woman's voice shouted his name. Red perked up and he stood, looking at the stairwell. The voice called him again, and pounded up the stairs. She reaced the top and became identifiable: Shera. It was obvious she had come here in a rush—her normally immaculate brown ponytail was dissheveled, and she was clad in her night clothes and house coat, which were stained a curious shade of red, and work boots. He saw the panic on her face as she rushed at him, and her eyes were wild behind her glasses.

"Oh god Cloud, I'm so glad I found you," she cried, and he wasn't sure if he should return the hug. It wasn't like they were especially close or anything. She didn't give him the chance though, as she let go a second later and snatched up his hand. "We have to go now." She yanked on his arm and started for the stairs.

He pulled his hand back. "Wait, Shera, what the hell? What happened to make you fly here without even changing your clothes? Is that blood? Is that _your_ blood?"

"We don't have _time,_ I'll explain on the way back, but we need to leave _right now!_"

"Not until you tell me what's up."

She gave him a stare that froze his blood. "The captain is dying."

Red jumped up, and the world ground to a halt.

"He's what?" Cloud said.

The intensity in her eyes quelled any further questions he had. He nodded once, then looked at Red.

"I will watch over her," he said. "Go."

They fled.

They stepped up into a run as they left the inn and beelined for the entrance to the village, then sprinted as the cobblestones met the grassland. About fifty meters away a very familiar pink aircraft sat, its single propellor spinning lazily in time with the engine's idle. Plastered on the side were the words "Tiny Bronco" in a rather interesting color scheme.

Heh, _Tiny Bronco._ This is cool.

If it was possible, Shera lengthened her stride and _bounded_ to the plane. She halted and grasped the door handle and _flung_ it open. Not needing any instruction, he clambered into the co-pilot's chair and buckled in. She was in a moment later, slamming the door and flipping the latch. She seated herself and strapped down, then nudged the throttle open. The pitch of the engine rose, the propellor became a blur, and the plane began to move, bumping along the uneven ground. After a time, she determined they had sufficiently accelerated, and she eased the stick back. The bouncing ceased as the craft left the earth, and she pushed the throttle wide open and pulled back on the stick. The nose went up sharply and the engine wailed, and Cloud was pinned back in the seat. He stole a glance at the instrumentation, and immediately regretted it. ENGINE RPM was pegged at six, ALTIMETER was spinning out of control, and AIR SPEED was climbing toward three hundred kilometers per hour. The rest of the gauges might have been labeled in Cetran for all the meaning they held for him.

He came this close to showing her his breakfast.

Eventually she banked the plane to the north and closed the throttle a bit. She leveled it off, and the engine wasn't so angry anymore. It was now possible to engage in discourse, so he posed the first question any man would.

"What the hell is powering this thing? I've never seen anything run by a Mako engine move so quickly."

Without looking up from her mystical runes, she responded. "It's something the captain created some time ago. It's an internal combustion engine, and it's fueled by a petroleum distillate known as gasoline, which is refined from the only subterrainian resource more abundant than Mako: fossil fuels. He knew Mako couldn't last forever, so he designed the engine around an alternative fuel. Its configuration is a bit different from most other engines, with the cylinders in a vee shape at a ninety degree angle, which allows for maximum compactness and a minimum of vibration, as opposed to a standard inline configuration. It has eight cylinders displacing five point seven liters and producing three hundred horsepower at five thousand revolutions per minute. Economy isn't anything to write home about, but it can't be beat when it comes to power output. A comparable Mako engine wouldn't make half the power of this baby. There is a downside though. While a Mako engine has almost no byproduct, aside from the obvious ruination of the land, a gasoline engine puts out toxic levels of several known greenhouse gases, including carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons, nitrogen oxides and particulate matter. ShinRa discovered all this in research and development when the captain submitted the design, and they nixed production plans, citing possible bad public relations resulting from making a machine that would put out that much pollution. Rather ironic in hindsight, I know. For his part, the captain was furious. 'Fuck their PR,' he said to me. 'They wouldn't know a good design if it bit 'em in the ass. I'll just build it myself.' And he did, by secretly appropriating funds from the Aeronautical and Space Program. The prototype tested successfully, so he had two more constructed, along with enough spare parts to rebuild them all at least five times."

She paused for breath. Wow. That was quite the mouthful. Plenty of time to assimilate the information later. "How did he do all that without Palmer's knowledge?"

"You give that fat fool too much credit. Palmer is an idiot, nothing more, nothing less. Even if he had found out and the operation were explained to him he still would've been clueless." Her choice of words made it plain she didn't care for her former boss. He nodded slowly and pressed on.

"What about the PHS network? How were you able to call me? I thought it didn't work anymore."

"You're right, it's been inoperational since ShinRa's headquarters were destroyed four years ago. But remember, Junon was essentially Midgar's sister city, and the company's secondary offices. That part of the company changed its name to Junon Electric and Wireless in order to dissociate itself from ShinRa, and commenced building a new PHS hub there. It was completed some time last year, with full service restoration late last month. I only found about this when my family in Junon contacted me last week. You could've knocked me over with a feather when the phone rang. Fortunately for us, the company didn't change any of the numbers, and the 'hacked' status of our joint account was left unaltered as well. But I hadn't any reason to call you... until today, that is."

He waited.

"The captain... Cid... had been... sick, for some time, due to his prolific smoking habit. He began smoking at a young age. When he was hired on with ShinRa, he signed up to test their new brand of cigarettes, and was immediately hooked. The strain of tobacco the company cultivated was several times more addictive than any other brand available, and was a huge commercial success as a result. Unfortunately it was also several times more carcinogenic. The consequences of that never manifested, though, since the fall of ShinRa also spelled the end of their smokes. For his part, he stockpiled what amounted to a two year supply at the rate he consumed them, which was just enough to get him through the stress of refitting the _Tiny Bronco_ and designing and planning the construction of a new ship. The enxt few months after he ran out of cigarettes were... unpleasant, to put it mildly. The withdrawal symptoms he experienced were far worse than anything I'd heard about, and no other brand could quell them. He was violently ill every morning, ate very little when I could make him eat, and was so irritable that the clinking of a spoon on his tea cup sent him flying into a rage. We went through a dozen kitchen tables before the symptoms subsided. In the end, though, he didn't smoke anymore. It's just too bad that didn't matter to the cancer. He was okay for about a year, and the ship was coming along swimmingly, but it was obvious his condition was deteriorating rapidly. Lately he's stopped going to the ship. He's been going to bed earlier and getting up later, sometimes going to sleep before sundown and not waking until almost midday. Over the last month he hasn't even been bothered to get out of bed at all, except to tighten the last bolt on the ship, and... when they came."

Again she stopped to catch her breath. He said nothing.

"This morning. We were woke up by screams and gunshots. There were two of them, a man and a woman, wearing gray, and they were shooting everyone in sight. They kept yelling that they wanted Cid, and they would keep killing until he came to them." Her eyes watered, and her voice caught in her throat. "I begged him not to go, he was too weak from the cancer to fight them, but..." She sighed deeply and dashed the tears from her eyes. "He grabbed his spear and went anyway. They shot him before he could even charge them. I went to him, and he was... just bleeding everywhere. I didn't have any materia..." She took another breath to steady herself. "But they didn't shoot me. They told me to relay a message to Cloud. They said, 'We'll be seeing you at Midgar,' and they left in a black helicopter with no markings."

Cloud frowned. That couldn't be coincidence. That Warren guy at the inn had said to go to Midgar. Now two unknowns killed people in Rocket Town to make the same point?

"Is Cid okay?" he asked.

New tears formed. "I got him to the doctor as fast as I could, which is why there's blood on my clothes. He used materia on him, but it didn't seem to do any good. He said that he'd lost a lot of blood, and he's bleeding internally, and without surgery, he'll..." She choked back a sob, trying to maintain her composure. The last thing either of them needed was for her to lose it at five thousand meters and crash the plane into the jagged peaks below. "Our hospital isn't finished yet, but even if it were, it wouldn't be equipped to handle his case. The nearest medical facilities that could are in Junon and Wutai, but even with the new ship he wouldn't make it." She reached out and hit a button marked AUTO-PILOT and turned to face him, her eyes wet with anguish and, at the same time, burning with hatred. "I want to find them, Cloud. I want to find them and make them _suffer._ When I find them, I'm going to tie them to a chair and break each of their fingers and toes with a hammer. One. By. One. Then I'm going to burn their nipples off with a butter knife and a blow torch. Then I'm going to strap them to a table and let water slowly drip on their foreheads for a few days, one drop every two seconds, until just before they go insane from it. Then I'm going to beat their faces into hamburger with a tewnty-four millimeter spanner, and _by god,_ if they're still alive I will make them experience pains that even their _nightmares_ can't match." She turned back to the controls and deactivated the auto-pilot.

Holy fucking hell.

Cloud was stupefied. _Shera_ said that? Shera, who was so mellow, mild-mannered and even-keeled that Cid's verbal abuse bounced right off?

Nothing more was said for the remainder of the flight. What could he say that would come close to countering her? All he could do was stare through the windshield and marvel at her words. He had to give it to her though, she was pretty damned creative.

The mountains gave way to the open plains of the rocket launch pad area. Rocket Town was there, but it looked quite different. There were many more structures, a serviceable runway and an absolutely _massive_ hangar, even from this distance. Shera banked the plane to line up with the runway, lowered the flaps, and picked up the radio. She clicked it on and spoke into it.

"Rocket Town approach control, this is Cessna zero-two-eight-one-echo, one-one-niner-point-three, over."

The response came immediately. _"Eight-one-echo, this is approach control, go ahead."_

"Control, eight-one-echo, requesting clearance on runway one, over."

_"Eight-one-echo, control. Clearance approved for runway one. Welcome home, Shera."_

She shut the radio off and expertly directed the plane back to earth. The tires on the landing gear complained loudly as they touched down, but only the barest of jolts was transmitted. Right away she cut the throttle and applied the brakes. As soon as they came to a stop she was out of her harness, pulled the key from the ignition and hit the door. He followed suit and was out a few seconds later.

They were met by a plain-looking man whom Shera did not introduce. She handed him the key to the _Tiny Bronco_, and he nodded. Without exchanging a word, she ran into town, and Cloud went with her.

They arrived at the infirmary in short order, and as she opened the door they were struck with the stench of spilt blood and powder burns. He counted fifteen beds, all of which were occupied by gunshot victims, some living, some not. Several more stood, sat and lay about the room. He wasn't able to contemplate the deplorable condition of these people for long, because Shera headed for a curtained-off room with a piece of paper taped atop the entrance with the letters "ICU" written on it hastily. She cast the sheet aside, and he was right behind her.

A thin, balding man in a blue lab coat and a bedraggled young woman in a floral sun dress and red-smeared apron stood over a bed, upon which was the prone form of Cid Highwind, the captain.

The man and woman, presumably doctor and his nurse, looked up when the sheet was moved, and the nurse's face told Cloud everything he needed to know about what went on here.

Cid was not well. Pallid face, sunken eyes, clammy skin, shallow respiration, blood-soaked dressings... Cloud counted six wounds to his chest, but they didn't seem to be close-range. They must have dropped him as soon as he set foot outside.

"Donovan, Angela," Shera said without preamble. "Anything?"

Angela, the nurse, suddenly became very interested in the wall above the bed, while Donovan shook his head slowly. "I've done all I can for him," he said, "but I just don't have the proper equipment. As I told you before, nothing short of major surgery is going to help him. Frankly, I'm surprised he's lived this long."

Cloud's eyes narrowed. He didn't care for the guy's tone, and his bedside manner was severely lacking. It implied disdain, very unprofessional. Shera didn't react, so he held his tongue.

"If you can get him to a _modern_ facility," the doctor went on, "he _might_ have a chance. As it stands, I don't see that happening, even with that ridiculous flying machine he built, so he has little time left."

Again, the doctor's tone left a bad taste in his mouth, a bit odd considering the situation. Shera's shoulders were heaving; he knew she wouldn't be able to hold it in for much longer.

"Did you use restore materia?" Cloud asked, staring directly at the crimson splotches.

"Do you take me for a fool? Of course I did. The wounds are too deep for materia to be very effective."

Something's not right here. He thrust his hand into his pocket and withdrew his master-level restore. "Let me see what I can do," he said, stepping over to the bed. He focused on the orb's power, and as he felt the first tingles of the magic a hand clamped onto his wrist, breaking his concentration.

"I said, I already tried that," the doctor said, squeezing, attempting to intimidate him.

He looked down at the hand, then to its possessor. "If you value that hand you'll let go of me," he said darkly, making his eyes glow for added effect. His arm was released.

"Cloud," a voice rasped.

Cid. He was glaring right at Cloud.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Why aren't you after those mother fuckers?" He spoke just above a whisper, but with intensity. His gaze redirected. "Shera... come over here." She obediently moved to the other side of the bed and stood by Angela, who was wide-eyed and agape at her previously comatose patient. Shera took up Cid's hand in both of hers, and he smiled weakly. "I had a surprise planned for you, and I wanted to be there to see your reaction... but now I guess that's not gonna happen." She shook her head vigorously and began to speak, but he cut her off. "Bullshit. I'm already dead and you know it. I was dead as soon as I picked up that spear like a fuckin' idiot and stepped out that door. Ain't nothin' you can do about it, except get the cocksuckers that did this to me and have Cloud cram his sword up their asses sideways. And then you kill them. Them and anyone they work for. Twice. So this doesn't happen to anyone else." He shakily lifted his other hand and caressed her tear-moist cheek, and she smiled.

"I love you Cid," she said.

He didn't respond. His hand fell back to the bed and his eyes drooped closed, and he exhaled.

A death rattle.

The nurse put a hand over her mouth and fled the room, making gagging noises.

Cid...

Cloud stumbled back from the bed. This isn't real. This isn't... Cid? Dead? That loudmouth son of a bitch...

A moment later Shera bumped into his chest, crying uncontrollably, and he put his arms around her. It was all he could do. As she sobbed into his shirt he regarded the supposed healer grimly.

"Doctor, have you ever picked up your teeth with broken fingers?" he asked.

The doctor blinked twice and shook his head slightly. "Excuse me?"

"I said, 'Have you ever picked up your teeth with broken fingers'?"

He hesitated. "I'm not sure what you mean..."

"What I mean, _doctor,_ is if I find out you didn't do everything within your power to save this man, or anyone else here today, then you _will_ find out what it's like."

The doctor puffed out his chest, again trying to intimidate. "Is that a threat?"

Cloud laughed humorlessly. "No doctor, of course not." He turned and drew the curtain aside and guided Shera out. "It's a promise."

As they exited the clinic, leaving behind the putrid aroma of death and dying, he considered using his fire materia to burn the man's lung tissue while still inside his body to instantly asphyxiate him. Amusing, to say the least, but ultimately inconsequential.

They trudged toward her house, but it wasn't long before she collapsed to her hands and knees and refused to go any farther. He knew her bereavement, knew it well, having seen many people die in his time. He would share in it later, to be sure, but there was too much that needed to be done now to succumb to it.

He lifted her back to her feet. Her legs were like jelly and wouldn't support her, so he scooped her up much like he did Yuffie just a few hours ago, and bore her the rest of the way to her home.

Her empty, silent home.

Damn.

* * *

Cloud waited on the couch in the living room while Shera cleaned herself up. All he could think of as he stared at the coffee table was vengeance, the swift and terrible vengeance he would deliver unto those responsible for all the death they dealt that day. Shera's imaginitive but previously unspeakable torture plans seemed like the perfect means to that end.

She appeared from the bedroom, and her demeanor had completely morphed from inconsolable grief to a quiet, angry determination. Her trademark ponytail was tightly pulled up with nary a hair astray, but her glasses were conspicuously absent, presumably replaced with contact lenses. She had on a white tank top that hugged her curves pleasantly, along with black cargo pants and brown work boots. Atop her coiffure sat Cid's goggles, and she was shrugging into his flight jacket.

Without a doubt, she wore them with pride.

She strode across the room to where a halberd hung from the wall. From tip to butt it was forged mythril, one of the strongest, most durable, and lightest metals in the world. Shaft length was right at two meters, with a diameter of about three centimeters. Most of its surface wrapped with strips of rough leather to provide a more stable grip. The head of the polearm was a gruesomely curved piece about a half meter long reminiscent of an old-style cutlass, but with a serrated edge, much like a power saw disc. It sat on thick U-brackets bolted into the wall.

As she lifted the mast ax from its brackets, she said, "Cid was rather paranoid. Shortly after he returned from defeating Sephiroth, he began instructing me in the use of the spear as a weapon, so that I might defend myself if he wasn't here." She brought it down and turned to him, holding it with practiced ease and perfectly balanced in her right hand. "With the little free time he had between building the new ship and rebuilding the _Tiny Bronco,_ he made this, poured his heart and soul into it, and named it Crime and Punishment. He never had the chance to use it because of the peace he helped bring to the world. Now it becomes his avatar, and with it, I will avenge him, and everyone killed or harmed today. She paused, and her knuckles were white as she gripped the spear. "Let's go back to the hangar. By the time we get there the ship should be ready for us."

They left her house, and she walked resolutely toward the aircraft hangar, Cid's Crime and Punishment poised in her hand, while he tagged along like a lost puppy. He could not equal this woman, who stood on the precipice of despair but did not plummet into its depths, who instead took up her man's spear and swore to exact revenge on his murderers.

Cid sure knew how to pick 'em.

As the sun rose toward high noon, they met the unidentified man from earlier just outside the huge structure.

"Jason, is she ready?" Shera asked him.

Jason nodded once. "As ready as she'll ever be. The crew is on board and standing by, the cargo bay is bursting with supplies, and the fuel tanks are brimming." He stepped aside and opened a door. "Your chariot awaits, m'lady."

"Thank you Jason," she said, and they crossed the threshold.

Cloud looked up. And up. "By Odin's beard," he remarked, and Shera smiled wanly.

In short, the ship was _beautiful._

At a glance, Cloud estimated it to be about fifty percent smaller than the _Highwind_ had been, for it was not based on an old-fashioned dirigible design. The design was more hawkish, with raking lines and angles nose to tail and rounded "wing" protrusions, much more modern. It squatted upon stout landing gear, but knowing Cid it was more than likely equipped for vertical take-off and landing. Emblazoned on the side was the name of the ship, and next to that was the familiar mural of the bikini-clad woman, but it was not blonde—instead the head was a photographic recreation of Shera.

_Zephyr._

"Oh god," she said, and he looked at her. "I always hated that woman he had painted on the side of the _Highwind._ But now it's me..." She closed her eyes. "Thank you, Cid."

They boarded the _Zephyr_ and proceeded straight to the bridge. Seated at the consoles all around was the same crew who'd manned the _Highwind._ Cloud chuckled nostalgically. They were definitely in good hands.

"Captain on the bridge," the men called simultaneously, and she sat in the captain's chair at the center of the bridge.

"Report," she said, and the stations chimed in.

"Navigation, online and nominal."

"Radar, online and nominal."

"Weapons on standby."

"Engines on standby, fuel level at ninety-nine percent."

She nodded to herself. "Gentlemen, let's move out!"

The engines immediately thrummed to life, and the roof of the hangar opened up to allow the _Zephyr_ egress. The craft lifted off smoothly and took off into the wild blue.


	9. Remembrances forgotten

_Xibalba,_ Chapter Nine  
"Remembrances forgotten"

"Nothing."

He blinked. "Nothing?"

The professor impatiently leafed through several pages of test results. "I can find no indication of abnormal brain activity within the last twenty-four hours, and the patterns are consistent with her last scan. Why did you waste my time if there's nothing wrong?"

He shook his head. "No she told me that she remembers speaking to that science experiment freak of yours, and that he told her things that aren't included in your reports. But _she's never met him._ How could she know those things."

The professor was impassive. "She's mistaken."

Enali scoffed. "That's it, huh? There's nothing wrong with her, she didn't actually remember any of that, and that's the end of it." When the professor didn't respond, he stepped over to the wall and meant to put his fist through it. Had it been made of a standard building material—drywall, wood, even stone—he would have succeeded. As it was, there was a dull _thud,_ and the wall was unaffected, being made from some seashell-like substance yet to be identified.

They left the professor's office without properly excusing themselves, but she couldn't be bothered to care, given the circumstances. As they walked down the path away from the strange structure, which was shaped like a conch shell, he went on about how he wanted to rip the professor's head off and shit down his neck, among other horrible things. Eventually he moved on to a different subject: how the raid on Rocket Town was a complete success with the death of Highwind, and how Strife and the rest of Avalanche would be flushed out, and how they would be taken care of at Midgar. All terribly fascinating, of course, but she just couldn't concentrate on his words. The city around them commanded her attention.

The long-abandoned and forgotten capitol of an ancient people. Situated in a remote valley on the frozen northern continent, the city was only accessible by air or through a forest maze to the southwest. The only way to describe the prevailing architecture was "marine." Everywhere one looked, the buildings all carried various shell-like appearances, sometimes covered in coral, like this city had been created on the ocean floor and relocated here. And although it had obviously been made by the hands of intelligent beings, nothing about it seemed unnatural, as if the designers had chosen this place for that express purpose.

Their meandering took them to the center of the city, where an incomparably clear lake lie. As always, Loren felt her chest tighten in apprehension. She couldn't put her finger on why she experienced it every time she came near the crystalline water, but she imagined it was akin to stepping on your own grave. Silly, of course, since she was undeniably alive, and seeing your own grave was about as likely as—

—_hands clasped, eyes closed in prayer, she felt a presence, he was there, thank the Planet, he came—_

Her breath caught. What was that? What—

—_but so did he, from above, the one who sought ruin, with a sliver of light in his hands, no, not light, something far worse—_

The tightness in her chest increased, so that she was unable to draw or expel breath, she started to panic as the pressure mounted—

—_a sword, an impossibly long sword, sleek and gleaming with darkness in his hands, sleek and gleaming, measured in years from end to end, and he sheathed it—_

Pain exploded in her stomach, and she nearly vomited, but nothing would come up, her throat was completely closed—

—_sheathed it in her belly, what an odd place for a sword to be, it doesn't go there, where's that blood coming from—_

An hallucination, it had to be, but it was too real, too vivid, why did it _hurt—_

—_it's her blood, her blood on the sword, her blood on the parapet before her, now the sword is gone, and there's more blood, flowing unstoppably like a river—_

She coughed up a gout of blood and drew enough air to scream, it echoed through the city, a scream of purest agony—

—_and she fell, fell into his arms, his arms cradled her, cradled her while her life seeped away, seeped away—_

Now Enali was holding her, calling her name, she couldn't hear him, could only hear the rushing wind, like a train moving through a tunnel—

—_away, and she looked up at him, she smiled and said don't worry but the words didn't come, and everything faded into nothing—_

_"Loren!"_

Nothing.

* * *

_In the darkness, fragments, pieces, snatches. They came to her, not-quite-recollections, jumbled, incomprehensible, but she had to make sense of them, else she be driven mad by her own subconscious._

_Whose memories are these? They can't be mine... I've never... I don't..._

_"I'm leaving tomorrow."_

_"You're leaving? But you just got here two days ago! I thought you had two weeks of leave."_

_"So did I. But the company received a strange report from Nibelheim, something about monsters, so they're sending the general and I to check it out."_

_"The general... you mean Sephiroth?"_

_"Uh huh."_

_"But Nibelheim's, like, a thousand kilometers away."_

_"Farther than that, actually... I probably won't be back for a while."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Well, even though the company takes monster reports at reactor sites very seriously, this isn't a high-profile case in their eyes, so we won't be getting priority one transportation, like a helicopter. We'll be getting a vehicle, and enough money for food and fuel to get there and back, but it's still gonna be a long trip. Weeks, probably, maybe a month or more."_

_"Why do you have to go? Why can't they send a different SOLDIER?"_

_" 'Cause I'm the best and they know it!"_

_"You're modest too."_

_Who was that? He looked just like... Enali? But that's not possible. This feels like... and old memory. But I only met Enali last year... How could I already know him?_

_What is this?_

* * *

Voice.

"...bullshit, and you know it. SHe coughed up blood, professor, _blood._ People who are well don't do that. Something's wrong with her, and it's not just mental anymore, it's physical too. ... Then perform the procedure! Whatever it takes. I don't want her to die because of this. ... How good of a chance? ... Holy shit. You're sure? ... All right, let me know..."

Before she could process that, she lost her tenuous grasp on consciousness.

* * *

Ceiling. It was blurry. She blinked several times to clear up her vision, and it came into focus, not that there was anything to focus on up there. Then the pounding in her head and the ache of her stomach made themselves known, and she almost went right back to sleep because of it. Instead she sat up in the bed and rubbed her face. There was a vague, coppery taste in her mouth, like when she bit her tongue and it bled.

"How do you feel?"

She turned to her left. Enali sat on a chair next to the bed, wearing a slight smile tinged with concern. His chiseled features, his astoundingly blue eyes, his rebellious black hair, all were identical to the man she talked to in her dream. Or was it a dream? It felt more like memories. It didn't make sense. And the other people she saw previously—they were Avalanche, but she spoke to them like companions, in places she's never been to.

What did it mean?

"A little muddled," she replied, not enumerating her physical pains. "Do we have any hi-potions?"

"Yeah, I'll get you one," he said, and stood from the chair. He left the room to retrieve one.

Again the remembered face flashed across her mind. She knew him. What was his name? Something with a Z... Zell... no, Zima... wait, Zakarum?

"Zack," she said.

"Who's Zack?" he asked, handing her a bottle of green liquid.

"You," she said without thinking.

"What?"

She glanced at him, and he was quizzical. "Oh, nothing," she said quickly, "like I said, muddled." She popped the top on the container and tipped it to her mouth. Within seconds it was empty to the last drop, and she gave it back to him, making a face. "Consistency of slime indeed." But her head and stomach didn't hurt anymore.

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She nodded, hoping he didn't press it any farther. He didn't.

"Well, at any rate, I hope you're well enough for some action," he went on. Action? He doesn't mean...? "I need you to go to Midgar with Chupon and Ultros and wait for Avalanche." Phew. She certainly wasn't in the mood for any other "action" right then. "We baited them, and I know they'll come, but I can't trust those shitheads to take care of Strife and the others. Rocket Town was literally shooting fish in a barrel, which doesn't take any sort of skill. Strife is a totally different matter. He's a trained SOLDIER. He's not stupid, and he's not weak. Even by himself he's a force to be reckoned with. But you're tough too, I've seen you. I know you can take him." He headed for the door. "I've already called ahead. The chopper should be ready for you by the time you get there. Give 'em hell, babe." He opened the door and turned back to her. "Oh, and uh, don't forget that catsuit of yours." He winked and favored her with that winning smile of his, then left.

She got out of bed and stretched, sighing. Catsuit? That man, she could just kill him sometimes. Catsuit. It was an excellent piece of armor that didn't hinder her movements. She opened the closet where the suit was attached to a hanger. She pulled it off and tossed it onto the bed, then went to her dresser and produced a pair of socks from a dwindling stock (which reminded her, she needed to wash her socks) and a cotton thong. She'd found out very quickly that, while wearing the suit, standard cut underwear bunched up and became uncomfortable and unsightly, while "going commando" severely chafed her nether region. Compromise—thong. She put these on the bed as well, then stripped out of her sweats, down to bare skin. She took her rat's nest of hair out of her ribbon, brushed it thoroughly, then tied it back up and dextrously would it into a thick braid.

She slipped into the panties and pulled the socks on, but did not don the brasierre again. In addition to attached gloves and high heel boots—much easier to march in than they appeared—the suit had built-in support for her breasts. She wasn't looking forward to all the unwanted attention it would bring—as Enali jokingly put it, Loren was "quite the comely lass," and most of the contingent in the city was male. More than likely, they would all turn out to see her off at the heliport, and she could already feel their lustful stares, and it made her skin crawl.

She picked up the suit and shook it out. It was created by the professor to be an all-purpose, one-size-fits-all garment, with slight modifications for either sex. It was made from woven threads of mythril to be light as a feather, hard as a dragon's scale and allow for maximum flexibility. Integrated into the suit was a device on the back of the left hand about the size of a thin petri dish. Within this device was millions of tiny machines called nanobots. With the press of the button on the device they are activated and released into the material of the suit, moving over every millimeter of it and reconfiguring the structure of the suit to fit the form of the person wearing it. And it was form-fitting, oh yes, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. It had been rather embarassing the first time she put it on, but embarassment easily became amusement when she saw the men were required to wear the same thing, and it did little to conceal their "equipment." The nanobots were programmed to maintain the form of the suit, and they did that by altering any abnormality back to original specifications, essentially an on-the-fly tailor in case of any damage.

She stepped into it and shrugged into the arms, then moved her hair and pulled the zipper on the rear closed. She pressed the button on the nanobot device, and the little critters went to work, shrinking the suit to act as a second skin. She performed a few stretches to test the flexibility, and was satisfied. She stopped in front of the full-length mirror on the way to the door and struck several provocative poses just for kicks. _Damn I look good,_ she thought.

She left for the heliport.


	10. Step up

_Xibalba,_ Chapter Ten  
"Step up"

"Daijobu desu ka."

She looked up from the mystical runes of the instrument panel at him. His expression was a subtle mix of concern and fatigue, interesting to say the least. She understood why; the story Shera told him had been related to her and Red, and it was quite depressing. But his worry for her physical condition surpassed all that, and she couldn't help the slight smile that crept onto her face.

"Daijobu desu," she replied.

"Gomen," he apologized. "I didn't want to hurt you that bad, but you're kinda stubborn."

She scoffed. "I know." Her gaze fell. "I don't know why I said that. I didn't really want to fight you, but I challenged you, and you accepted, so I had to follow through. Won't happen again, I can guarantee that. I woke up in a hurt locker. Red couldn't get me a potion fast enough." She looked up again. "Thank you." She huffed a laugh. "Remind me never to piss you off for real."

He smiled slightly. "I don't think you can piss me off." He looked out the front window and the smile faded. It offered a view of the sun setting on the surface of the ocean. Under normal circumstances, she'd find it rather beautiful. But they were waiting for Shera to return from Junon, on the unenviable task of delivering Cid to the coroner. Once she got back, they were going to plan a funeral and sleep on the _Zephyr_ overnight, and continue to Midgar in the morning.

"I can't believe he's really gone," she intoned. He didn't look back. This is so damned depressing. Who would do that? Cid had stopped Meteor along with the rest of Avalanche, and was a celebrity and hero. Was that his reward? Would it be hers as well? What a fucked up world, that it's nothing to save it and be killed a few years later. Bunch of ingrates.

His reward... The hero's reward. Cloud had talked about it once when he had been staying with her, but in reference to Tifa. _Is this what we get for our troubles?_ he'd said. _Is this what we get? We stop a meteor, a magic friggin' star from crashing into the Planet, and this is how we're repaid? The people we love... Why did we bother? Why did we even fucking waste our time, if this is how it turned out for us? You know what? Fuck this world. Fuck this shitty fucking world, I'm done looking after it. If another goddamn Sephiroth summons another goddamn Meteor, good fucking luck, 'cause I damn well ain't gonna stop it. Fuck the Planet. It's on its own._ His bitterness had been apparent then, and seemed to be resurfacing now.

Cloud was silent, leaving her to her thoughts. Where would they go now, her and Cloud? She'd made him fight her, for her, and he'd beaten her pretty convincingly, so she was honor-bound to be his. But the way things were, there didn't seem to be much time for a relationship. They had such a busy schedule: Midgar tomorrow, then a funeral for Cid... then what? It'd be the height of bad taste to conduct any sort of wedding ceremony so soon after that, if indeed he wanted to marry, which wasn't certain, but she did know he wanted to be with her, and she with him, and marriage only seemed natural, but what did he think of that, and what about her father, would he approve of Cloud, he had to, the man saved the world, and if that didn't prove his mettle nothing would, then again why should she care what her father thinks, he never seemed to give a damn about what she did before, why start worrying now of all times, when—

Boots clanked on the deck, signaling Shera's return. She turned to her. Shera was haggard, pale, seemingly drained. She sighed as she slumped into the captain's chair. Cloud approached her.

"How are you?" he asked.

"I could've lived another hundred years just fine if I hadn't had to do that," she responded, voice shaky. "I'm a wreck. But that can wait."

He nodded. "I know this is rough. I know it is. But I need to know who did this. Who were they? What did they look like? I need to know who we're after."

Shera breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. "The man was big. I mean big, like some kind of bodybuilder. Must've been somewhere around two meters, maybe even a hundred kilos. He was dark-skinned, real grizzled-looking, had one of those flat-tops. Massive hands, barrel chest, legs like tree trunks." From that brief description, Yuffie had a picture, but she didn't like what she saw. It couldn't be. "The woman was around one hundred fifty, one hundred sixty centimeters, something like that, very lithe, but strong hands. Fair complexion. Very long brown hair, past her waist. Kind of red eyes. And breasts that seemed like they were gonna split the fabric of her suit."

Cloud's eyes widened and he swayed, catching himself on the arm of the captain's chair. "No..." he breathed. Yuffie felt her mind swimming, and she put a hand over her mouth. Red had perked up, eye narrowed, ears flattened to his skull. "You're—" Cloud's voice caught. He cleared his throat. "You're sure about them? That's what they looked like?"

Shera looked up at him. "Yes, I'm sure. Why?"

Yuffie spoke up. "You just described Barret and Tifa. But they're..."

"Dead," Red finished. "The likelihood of two individuals matching your description and not being Barret and Tifa is exceedingly small; conversely, the likelihood that you witnessed them perform the act is nil. They are years dead. Please, be absolutely certain of your words."

Shera sat up. "I am," she said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Very well. Is there anything else noteworthy about those persons?"

She thought for a moment. "They had grey jumpsuits, form-fitting, with a red symbol on the left chest."

Cloud slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. Professionally printed on its surface was a red omega. "Did it look like this?" he asked.

"Yeah, that was it," Shera said.

Cloud made a fist, crushing the paper. The sun had set. The world outside the ship was dark, the moon new, the stars absent this close to Junon. They may as well have been inside a black hole. "They're from Xibalba," he said. "I don't know how they did it, whether they used plastic surgery or whatever, but they did it, and I don't like it. That's too much." He stalked out of the bridge, headed for the cabins.

Yuffie sat, stunned. How? How could that be right? Cloning? Could they have cloned them? Didn't that take a lot longer though, and require hair or something from the person you're cloning? It didn't make sense.

"Logically speaking," Red said, "this is nonsense. Not that I am saying you're a liar, Shera. But as I said, it is so improbable as to say it is impossible for Barret and Tifa to have been the people you saw." He shook his head. "It would seem that we shall find out tomorrow at Midgar, one way or the other." He too headed to the cabins, leaving Shera and Yuffie. After several awkwardly quiet moments, Yuffie stood. "I don't know what to say to that. Don't take this the wrong way, but I really hope you're mistaken. I don't think any of us could take it if..."

Shera nodded. "I know," she agreed. "I remember them from when they first met the captain. I'd never seen a man like Barret before, or since for that matter. And Tifa's beauty was otherworldly. But he never looked twice, Cid didn't. I don't know." A faraway look came to her eyes. "He was a good man, you know. Even after he aborted the launch all those years ago to save me, even after everyone at the base hated my guts and called for my job, he never lost faith in me. Oh sure, he hated me just like everyone else did, but he was always the first to say that the rocket team needed me, that I really was a brilliant engineer. When ShinRa told him to start building a long-range airship, he always came to me when a problem with the initial designs came up. When he came back to me before going with you to the Northern Crater, he wanted me to know that he loved me, and he'd make sure he didn't die down there, that he'd come back to me." Tears formed. "And he did come back. But now he's gone, and he won't be coming back. And it looks like dead friends are the ones who killed him." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "If there's any justice in this world, whoever brought them back and made them kill him will rot in hell for all eternity, and that'll be a step _up_ for them once I'm done with them." And she stood. And she left the bridge.

* * *

_"Tifa! Aeris! Time for dinner!"_

_He watched them from the back porch as they ran toward the house, closely followed by their black lab, Zack. If he hadn't watched them come into the world with his own eyes, he'd be hard pressed to call them twins. They were fraternal twins, and the dissimilarities didn't stop there. Tifa's chocolate hair was untamed and free; Aeris preferred a modest braid woven into her chestnut tresses. Tifa's eyes were a burgundy wine, but Aeris' were a rapture of malachite. Where Tifa was outgoing, Aeris was introverted. While Tifa excelled at physical activities, Aeris' field was mental challenges. Tifa was a natural at the hand-to-hand techniques he taught her; Aeris was far better with materia in her hands. Despite all that, they were as close as sisters could be._

_Laughing the whole way, they raced each other to him, with Zack taking first place, as always. It was hard to win with two less legs, but they tried nonetheless. He found himself smiling too._

_"What's for dinner, Daddy?" Tifa asked, only slightly out of breath._

_"I think Mommy's making spaghetti," he replied. This prompted Aeris to make a face._

_"Spaghetti's messy," she said. "It'll get all over my dress."_

_He chuckled a bit. "Only if you go at it like Zack does." He patted the dog's head. "Now go upstairs and wash up." With a simultaneous "okay," they went into the house, the screen door slapping against the jamb._

_The dopey dog face faded from Zack. He stared out over the field, intent on the horizon. "I know," he said to the labrador. "I sense something too. We'll wait and see for now. Go check on Mom for me, wudja?" The hound obediantly left his side and entered the house as well._

_He let a bit of time pass as he gazed out over the expanse of grass before him. Far off, the mountains loomed, hunkered down for the ages, ever-watching, immortal beings that blinked once a century, that breathed over the course of a millenium. He glanced at his watch, which showed ten minutes had passed. The cur had not returned to report to him. He turned to the house._

_It was silent. A chill worked its way up his spine._

_He stepped over to the entryway, shoes clopping on the wooden stoop. The smell of spaghetti and garlic bread wafted through the screen, but without the accompanying domestic sounds, it soured his stomach. He reached for the handle and drew the screen open._

_He noticed several things right off. First, as she'd predicted, Aeris had gotten her dress messy; the front of it was red. Second, the red didn't seem to be the spaghetti sauce. Third, she wasn't touching the floor, she was stuck to the wall. Fourth, she was stuck to the wall via the two-meter katana protruding from her chest. Zack was on the floor before her, his guts spilled onto the tile, a snarl forever pulling back his lips. Tifa was nearby also, pinned to the floor with a similar nodachi, crimson pooled around her. The last thing he noticed was his wife, Yuffie, slumped on the table with her face in a plate of the spaghetti she'd cooked, though she wasn't eating. A third sword held her there, vermillion liquid gathered at her feet._

_All this passed over him in a matter of four seconds. A wrecking ball to the solar plexus would have had a lesser effect on him._

_He fell to his knees._

_The screen door creaked._

_He turned his head._

_Black leather, silver hair, green eyes, a malevolent grin, and a blade that measured exactly one eternity from tip to grip. A mirthless laugh escaped the mouth, and the blade rose. Slowly and swiftly at once, it came down—_

* * *


End file.
